


A Beautiful Friendship

by Francis_Eugene



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Africa, Gen, Parody, Totally crack!fic, treatise on economic theory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:40:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 29,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27020626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Francis_Eugene/pseuds/Francis_Eugene
Summary: What Xander was really up to in Africa.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 5





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Q: What do you get when you cross Buffy with:  
> a. the greatest movie of all-time  
> b. too many other hours watching Mel Brooks movies  
> c. the sad fact I'll laugh at my own jokes and puns
> 
> A: This true account of Xander's life in Africa 
> 
> Warning: Mild Buffy-bashing ahead (because _someone_ has to be the bad guy (right?)) 
> 
> [This story never got much love, but it was easily the one I had the most fun writing.]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The setup. (That's what a prologue is for.)

**Title:** A Beautiful Friendship  
**More Accurate Title:** How Doyle Got Better  
**The Most Accurate Title:** What Xander Was Really Doing in Africa  
**The Actual Most Accurate Title:** _Not_ a Treatise on Economic Ramifications of Sympathy in Short Supply  
**Scandinavian Title:** [**see end]  


**Prologue**

After The First was defeated in The Battle at Sunnydale's Hole inna' Ground (The First BaSHinG), and the minions of the Senior Partners trounced at the Battle Where Atrocious Hordes Attacked Angel and His Associates at Hyperion's Alleyway (BWAHAAHAHA) all was good in the world, badness and all things generally considered evil, vile, or bad for your hair, seemingly vanquished on all fronts. 

But, alas, it was not to last (because then this story would be really short and boring). 

Buffy had gotten seriously miffed (tiffed, as well) when she was dumped by the Immortal after he got tired of all her incessant and pompous speechifying, always prattling on about how she had defeated The First and dusted that vamp and slayed this demon and died twice and punched out a Goddess with bad hair and blew up a giant snake, and on and on ad nauseam. It _never_ ended! 

Indignant and full of herself, she infected her Slayer Army with the Lust for Mom Hair, and to run things Their Way, for it was the Right Way (not the wrong way nor the right-of-way). Demons would be vanquished once and for all, even the nice fluffy ones and the not quite as nice but still cute purple scaly ones. Sympathetic humans who helped them would suffer as well. 

Leaving Rome, Buffy took her army to England, establishing headquarters in London. She started her campaign in Europe, slayers slashing and burning and slaying their way through the continent, taking demon and human prisoners alike wherever they went. Many eyes and other sensory tentacles in imprisoned Europe turned hopefully, desperately toward the freedom of the Pylean dimension now that Groo had finally gotten his shit together and established it as a beacon of peaceful demon and human freedom and coexistence throughout the multi-dimensional universe. 

As Cleveland's sister city, Lisbon (nobody rocks covers like Lisbon!!) had magical association with that far-away American metropolis on the Hellmouth Jr. That link provided the magical energy necessary to transport demons and people to Cleveland and from there it was just a hop, skip and a slither to the Pylean dimension. 

For reasons which will not be adequately explained in any way whatsoever, nobody could get to Lisbon directly. So a tortuous roundabout refugee trail sprang up in Europe: Paris to Marseilles, across the Med. to Oran, then by train, auto, foot, claw, or pseudopod across Africa to Casablanca. 

Here the fortunate ones, through money or influence, or luck, or ravening butchery, might obtain exit talismans and scurry to Lisbon, and from Lisbon to Cleveland and on to Pylea. 

But the others wait in Casablanca. 

And wait. 

And wait. . 

And wait. . . 

** Scandinavian title cards removed due to copyright fight with Monty Python's Black Knight. 


	2. A Hot, Hot Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's hot in Casablanca.

**Part 1:** A Hot, Hot Day 

It's hot in Casablanca. The dusty, narrow streets of the Moorish section of the city are hotter yet. The streets are incredibly crowded with all sorts of humans and demonic creatures, the torrid heat making them quiet and tranquil. 

An officer inside the police station turns to the microphone and intones: 

"To all officers. Two Slayer couriers, carrying really important magical stuff, were slayed on the train from Oran. Murderer and possible accomplices headed for Casablanca. Round up all suspicious suspects and search them for stolen objects." 

Out in the torpid streets another officer blows his whistle. The crowds panic as police begin to round up demons and people alike. A police car screams through plaza and stops in front of the market. Everyone tries to escape, but some are caught and tossed into arriving wagons. Two officers stop an Ornak demon, an inoffensive looking creature with red slime spurting out from an orifice on the top of his head. 

The first officer, a tall, well muscled dark-haired man with a stern military bearing, demands, "May we see your papers?" 

"I don't think I have them on me," answers the nervous demon. 

Graham is unforgiving. "In that case we'll have to ask you to come along." 

The demon frantically sifts through the folds of skin that cover him. "Wait, it's just possible I have..." He finds something and presents it to the second officer, an even taller black man with a shaved head. "Yes, here they are!" The demon does a double-take. "Say, I thought ADAM killed you!" 

"I got better," Forrest growls, rolling his eyes. Forrest examines the papers briefly before throwing them into the dust. "These expired three weeks ago. You'll have to come with us!" 

The demon suddenly breaks away, running wildly, desperately. Forrest and Graham both shout, "Halt!", but the demon ignores them. 

Across the square a young couple, Gunn and Fred, watch, confused as Forrest and Graham gang-tackle the fleeing demon, who falls in a flail of appendages, the fall breaking his neck. The officers search the body but find nothing important and leave it behind in a huff. 

"Like I always said: animals!" snorts Forrest. Graham nods his head. 

Later in the day, in front of the Palais de Police, suspect Bovine demons are being herded into the station. In a cafe across the street an elderly Fyarl couple watch the commotion in front of the Palais as a dump-truck drops more more suspects onto the street. 

A sneaky Snoggle sitting at the adjacent table has been keeping at least three of his ten eyes on the gullible couple. He overhears the female Fyarl ask, "What's going on?" The timing is perfect and the Snoggle gets up. 

"Pardon." says the Snoggle. "It's just the usual roundup of suspects, refugees, liberals—and a beautiful lady—for Mr. William, the recently installed Prefect of Police. And along with these refugees have arrived the scum demons of Europe," explains the demon with many eyes as he pats the male Fyarl demon gently on the shoulder, making sure to avoid any fast-setting snot that might fly from his nose. "Watch yourself, be on guard, this place is full of vultures. Vultures everywhere!" 

"Ah, thank you my good ma—thing, thank you very much for the warning," replies the male. 

"Not at all, dude! Au revoir." 

The Fyarl turns to his companion, "An amusing little Snoggle. Waiter!" He checks his pockets but can't find his wallet. "How silly of me!" 

"What, dear?" asks the female. 

"I seem to have left my wallet in the hotel." His face clouds up as he looks after the retreating Snoggle. Disgusted, he blows his nose at the waiter and storms off with his wife. 

A magic carpet, on final approach to land, appears over the plaza. Refugees lined up outside the Palais look up in longing at that symbol of hope. Gunn and Fred, now having mysteriously moved to where the real action is, look up wistfully. "Perhaps tomorrow we'll be on that carpet?" Fred asks Gunn. Gunn just shrugs his shoulders and continues to watch the carpet as it swoops over another building adjacent to the airport. There is a sign on the front of the establishment: 

"Al's Authentic California Juice Bar" 

\--- 

The carpet comes to a swooshing halt in front of a group of Slayer Army lackeys and French police officers, including one Captain William, Prefect of Police. Captain William is suave, debonair, alert, has a really bad dye job, plus two other afflictions that will be introduced shortly. 

Buffy steps off the carpet, dusting herself off. Her expression is iron hard as she looks around with a piercing glare. She pauses to adjust her mom-do. 

Dawn, one of the lackeys, comes up to her and makes a stabbing gesture. "First Slayer!" she salutes. 

"First Slayer!" Buffy automatically replies, making a sloppy stabbing gesture in a return salute. They then embrace each other. 

"It's so cool to see you again, Buffy!" Dawn exults. 

Buffy is cool and imperious in her reply, "Thank you, thank you." 

Dawn turns and lifts her hand to indicate one of the waiting officers. "May I present Captain William, Police Prefect of Casablanca." 

"Hey!" Buffy exclaims, "Spike!" She starts to go to him but is held back by Dawn. 

"Yeah, it's Spike. He's been Sandal-shoed or something," Dawn hurriedly explains. "And he's human. And apparently he got amnesia as a side-effect of some prophecy. He doesn't remember anything about you, Sunnydale or, well, just about everything." Dawn shrugs, she's beyond caring. 

Buffy is a little taken aback by this odd bit of news. "Sounds like a pathetic plot device if you ask me." Dawn does not deny this (neither does the author). 

Captain William approaches Buffy and salutes. "Welcome to Casablanca." 

Trying to play it casual, for she is a professional, Buffy replies, "Thank you, Captain, it is very good to be here. But what's with the French accent? I thought you were British?" 

Captain William pointedly ignores Buffy's last comment as he introduces his aid, "Zis is my aide, Lieutenant Tara." 

As professional as she is, Buffy still can't help her shocked expression. "Tara! But you're dead!" 

"I got better." 

"Oh." 

The groups turns and begins walking away from the carpet, Buffy alongside Captain William, the others following behind. Captain William speaks first. "You may find ze climate of Casablanca a trifle warm, Buffy." 

"Oh, we Slayers must get used to all the climates, from Russia to the Sahara. But perhaps you were not referring to the weather?" 

He easily dodges the question. "But what else, my dear Buffy?" 

Buffy has serious business in mind. "By the way, the murder of the slayer couriers. What have you done?" 

"Realizing ze importance of ze case, we 'ave rounded up _twice_ ze usual number of suspects," Captain William proudly announces. 

"We already know who the murderer is!" Tara breaks in from behind. 

Buffy is visibly pleased. "Good. Is he in custody?" 

Captain William answered the question, "Oh, zer is no 'urry. Tonight 'ee will be at Al's. Everybody comes to Al's!" 

Buffy glares at Captain William upon hearing of this. "I've already heard of this Al's," she growls, "and its proprietor, Mr. Alexander Harris." 


	3. Everybody Comes To Al's

**Part 2:** Everybody Comes To Al's 

Outside of Al's the neon sign is brightly lit. Many people and creatures of the night are converging on the entrance where music and laughter pour out onto the street, making a hell of a mess the newcomers have to wade through. The Casablanca City Public Works Department (CCPWD) has complained bitterly about cleaning up all that music and laughter—it gets quite sticky in heat—but Al refuses to do anything about it. Anyways...even before they enter, the patrons can hear the orchestra doing a rocking cover of a Nerf Herder song. 

From outside, Al's seems an ordinary and ramshackle juice bar, but inside it _is_ an ordinary ramshackle juice bar, possessing a cloak of intrigue and sophistication. It possesses many other cloaks as well, but they're still at the dry-cleaners (re. streets with sticky mess of music and laughter). All kinds of demons and people mix together. Some of the humans are in glittering gowns. Some of the demons simply glitter. There are Levantines, Mocha demons, naval officers, even a vampire or two. 

At a table, two women, a red-head and a blond, talk quietly but urgently. "Tara," Willow the head waiter, says, "this awful Slayer spell side-effect is killing me. I'll never get out of here! I'll be stuck forever playing a bunch of minor characters in this stupid story." 

"W-w-well I _did_ get better, so I'll call that an upside," tartly replies Tara. Her sympathy for Willow's predicament is in short supply. Sympathy throughout Casablanca is in short supply. The inflationary effects of this will have serious world-wide economic ramifications in years to come (but that's another story). 

Over by the bar the friendly juice-tender, Andrew, gives a Cucumber-Kumquat Krush to an Englishman. 

Willow goes to a guarded private door. "Huh?" she blurts as she sees the new game-room bouncer. 

Darla waves her hand dismissively. "Yeah, yeah, I got better. It's a thing." 

Willow, resigned to her lot in this story, just shrugs her shoulders. "Well then, Darla, open up." 

"Ooo! you like it in public, do you?" Darla leers lecherously. 

Willow rolls her eyes. "I mean the door, you undead 'ho!" 

"Oh, yes, Ms. High-and-Mighty-Witch," snarks Darla, but she opens the door anyway, allowing Willow to enter the game room. 

\--- 

There is much play and excitement in the game room. 

A woman calls over. "Oh, Willow!" 

"Yes, Madame?" 

"Will you ask Al if he'll have a drink with us?" 

"Madame, he never drinks with customers. Never ever." 

The first woman's companion breaks in. "What makes juice bar owners so snobbish?" 

Riley, the pompous man with the two woman, responds to Willow. "Perhaps if you told him I'm the second tallest man in Amsterdam—" 

Willow interrupts him. "The second tallest? That wouldn't impress. The tallest is now the pastry chef in our kitchen!" 

"We have something to look forward to," replies Riley wryly. 

"Really?" Willow giggles. 

Tara, the game room overseer, goes over to a far table with paper in hand. She takes the paper from the table's hand and brings it to a man sitting in deep shadow at another, this time handless, table. A Cherry-Lima Bean Cooler is on the table before him, his hands laid flat on either side of the glass. Tara gives him the paper whereupon he scrawls 'OK, Al' upon it. 

Tara takes it away as Xander resumes his game of solitary tic-tac-toe. His face is expressionless as he ponders O's next move against X's clever use of the infamous put-your-X-in-the-middle strategy. 

A commotion by the game room door causes him to look up. Xander nods a curt OK to Darla, allowing a player to enter. A slayer appears at the door and he shakes his head this time. Darla starts to close the door. 

"I'm sorry, this is a private room," Darla explains to the intrusive slayer. 

The slayer is miffed. "Of all the nerve! I know there are PlayStations in there, it's no secret. You dare not keep me out!" She tries to push her way through as Xander walks up. 

"Yes? What's the trouble?" he asks coldly. 

"This slayer—" 

"I've been in every game room from Honolulu to Brighton, and if you think I'm going to be kept out of a place like this you're very mistaken." 

A small, thin and nervous half-man, half-demon, tries to squeeze through the knot of people at the door. "Em, excuse me please. Oh, cheers, Alex!" 

"Hi Doyle—Waitaminute! I heard you died heroically, way back—!" 

"I got better." 

Xander frowns. "Yeah, there's a lot of that going around it seems," he says sardonically. "Well...OK then, go on in." He focuses back on the slayer, takes the card from her and tears it up. "Your tokens are good at the bar." 

The slayer is outraged. "What! Do you know who I am?" 

"I do. You're lucky the bar is open to you." 

"This is outrageous, I shall report this to the Council!" shouts the slayer as she storms off. 

Xander returns to the table to pick up his game. Doyle saunters over. "Y'know, Alex, watchin' ya now with that slayer there, one might be thinkin' you've been doin' this all yer life." 

Xander's response is frigid. "What makes you think I haven't?" he says, ice water dripping from his voice. 

"Ah, nothin'. But when you first came to Casablanca here, I'm thinkin'—" 

"You thought what?" demands Xander, icicles now dangling off his voice, his hours of arduous practice with a meat freezer finally paying off. 

Doyle laughs nervously. "What right do I have to think?" He pulls up a chair to sit down at the table. "May I? Too bad about those two slayer lackeys, wasn't it?" 

"They got a lucky break. Yesterday they were just two lackeys. Now they're the 'honored two lackeys'." 

"You are a very cynical person, Alex, if you'll forgive me fer sayin'." 

"You're forgiven." 

A waiter places a Banana Manna-Mushroom Mixer before Doyle. "Thank you," he tells the waiter. Turning back to Xander, Doyle asks, "Will ya be havin' a drink with me?" 

"No." 

"Ah, I forget. You never drink with..." Instead of finishing his sentence Doyle changes subjects. "You despise me, don't you?" 

Xander looks up from his game. "If I gave you any thought I probably would." 

"But why?" 

"Being half-demon ain't helpin' your case." 

"Or do you object to the kind of business I do? Ah, but think o' all those good refugees who must rot in this place if I didn't help them. Right, that's not so bad now. Through ways o' me own I provide them exit talismans." 

Xander nods his head knowingly. "For a price, Doyle, for a price." 

"But those poor devils who cannot meet Spike's price, I'm chargin' only half. Is that so parasitic?" 

"I don't mind a parasite. But I do mind a cut-rat one." 

"Well, Alex, me boy, after tonight I'll be through with the whole business and I'll finally be leaving Casablanca!" 

"Who did you bribe for your talisman? Spike or yourself?" 

"Me-self! I found me-self much more reasonable." Doyle chuckles to himself for a moment before he slaps an envelope down on the table. "C'mere, Alex, do you know what this is? Something even _you_ have never seen. Talisman's of Transit...'ToT's (not to be confused with Talismans _in_ Transit, aka TiTs) blessed by the High Coven. They cannot be rescinded, squeezed, fondled, kneaded nor licked. Not even questioned. Tonight I'll be selling those for more money than even I have ever dreamed and then: addio Casablanca!" Doyle scoots his chair even closer to Xander. "Y'know, Alex, I have many friends in Casablanca, but somehow, just because you despise me you're the only one I trust. Will you keep these for me? Please?" 

"For how long?" Xander wants to know, curious despite himself. 

"Perhaps an hour, perhaps a little longer, right?" 

"I don't want them here overnight!" 

"Oh, no need to be afraid o' that. Keep them for me. I know I can trust you." 

After considering for a few moments Xander does indeed take the talismans. As Doyle prepares to leave a waiter comes up. Doyle speaks to the waiter. "I'll be expectin' some demons. If anybody goes askin' for me I'll be right here." 

"Yes, monsieur?" 

Doyle turns back to Xander. "I hope yer a bit more impressed with me now, eh? Now, If you'll be forgiven me I'll be sharin' me good luck with your Pac-Man game." 

Xander gets up from the table to follow Doyle. "Just a moment," Xander calls out. Doyle stops and looks back. "Yeah, I heard a rumor those lackeys were carrying Talismans of Transit." 

Doyle does an appallingly bad impression of someone who doesn't know what's going on. "I heard o' that rumor too. Most intrestin'." He shrugs. "Poor bastards." 

Xander's gaze is steady. "Yes, you're right. I am a little more impressed with you," he finally says, then swivels on his heel and leaves for the main room. 

\--- 

Giles is playing acoustic guitar while Lorne sings a rocking cover of "They Built This City". The spotlight shifts from the musical pair to the orchestra and back as Xander makes his way behind Giles. While the spotlight is on the orchestra he slips the envelope into the guitar's sound hole. Somehow, incredibly, nobody, not even Giles, notices. 

Xander begins to head back to his office when Faith, the new owner of the Blue Suede Shoe, comes in and sits down. She watches her ex-boytoy and choke-buddy as he crosses the room. They both smile when Xander spots her and she goes over to the bar to talk to him. 

"Hey, Ex!" she smirks. 

"Hello, Faith. It's good to know you finally saw the light and got out of Buffy's little army. Though I have to admit being the owner of a frozen yogurt shop really threw me there for awhile. How's business at The Shoe?" 

"Five by five, y'know. Business would be even better if I could buy your little juice bar." 

"It's not for sale," Xander says as flatly as a Kansas wheat field. 

Faith is not discouraged. "You haven't heard my offer." 

"It's not for sale at any price," he says, his voice now as flat as a table in a Kansas City pool hall. 

Faith is not one to give up easily. "What do you want for Giles and Lorne?" 

"I don't buy or sell human beings. Or horny demons, either," Xander's voice now as flat as Fred. 

Faith is not dissuaded. "That's too bad, Eks. That's Casablanca's leading commodity. In refugees alone we would make a fortune if you'd work with me through the black market." 

Xander sighs. "Suppose you run your business and let me run mine." 

Faith is not so easily put off. "Suppose we ask them. Maybe they'd like a change." 

"Suppose we do." 

"X-acto, when will you realize in today's world isolationism is no longer a practical policy?" 

Startled, Xander asks, "When the hell did you start using words like isolationism, Faith?" 

"I dunno. Just seemed like the right thing to say." She shrugged, trying to hide the fact she reads dictionaries as a hobby, something she'd picked up while in the pen. 

They approach Giles and Lorne, whereupon Xander asks the duo, "Giles, Lorne, Faith wants you to work for her at The Blue Suede Shoe." 

"We like it fine here," replies Giles. 

"She'll double what I pay." 

This time Lorne responds. "Yeah, but we ain't got time to spend the money we make here, my blueberry Poptart." 

Xander turns back to Faith, grinning. "Sorry." 

Faith is satisfied, "Hey, no problems, X-erox, I'm two-five." She walks away, hips rocking like a dinghy in a hurricane, Xander's eye following her all the way. After a few moment he signals for Tara to chase after and fetch his eye back. 

Elsewhere in the joint an attractive blond woman is sitting at the bar, drinking an Apple-Peanut Butter Blast. 

Andrew serves the young woman, refilling her glass. "The boss's private stock, because Anya, I love you." 

"Oh, shut up, you little monkey 'roid." 

"All right, all right. For you, Anya, I'll shut up, because, Anya, I love you." He glances over as Xander comes to the bar, "Uh oh..." 

Xander comes up next to Anya but pays no attention to her. He hasn't even recognized her yet. She looks at him bitterly. 

"Xander, Xander," Andrew calls, "Some slayers, boom bada boom, gave me this check. Is it all right?" 

Xander takes it and tears it up. 

Anya has not taken her eyes off him the whole time. "Where were you last night?" 

Whirling in shocked surprise, Xander grabs the edge of the bar to steady himself, making sure he is calm and collected before replying. He then does his refrigerator routine so that he's also as cool as an Amana side-by-side. 

"That's so long ago I don't remember. And besides, I thought you were dead," he says coolly, doing the entire refrigeration industry proud. 

"I got better. Group discount rate. Deal with it. Will I see you tonight?" 

"I never make plans that far ahead," Xander begs off. 

Anya snorts and turns to Andrew. "Give me another Blast!" Then, turning nasty, she adds, "at least they're better than his orgasms!" 

Xander doesn't react one bit. "Andrew, she's had enough." 

"Don't listen to him, Andrew, fill me-err, it, fill it up." 

"Anya, I love you, but he pays me." 

Anya is furious. "Xander, I'm sick and tired of you—" 

"Andrew, call her a cab." 

"Yes, boss," agrees Andrew before turning to address Anya. "So what do you want, Cab?" 

Andrew cringes as he is pelted by the crowd. He gives Xander an accusing yet apologetic smile before he comes around the bar and goes outside to hail a taxi. 

"Come on, we're going to get your coat," Xander informs his ex. 

Scowling, she demands, "Take your hands off me!" Then she pleads, "Unless you're going to give me an orgasm?" 

"No, you're going home, you've had too much to drink." 

Andrew stands outside and signals for a cab. One pulls up at the same time Xander and Anya come out. Xander puts the coat over her but she reacts violently. "Who do you think you are, pushing me around? What a fool I was to fall for a man like you!" 

"You'd better go with her, Andrew. Make sure she gets home." 

"Yes, boss." 

"And come right back." 

"Yes, boss." Andrew's disappointment is obvious. 

Andrew leaves with Anya as Xander watches soberly. After their taxi disappears Xander looks up as the strobing light from the airport beacon flashes dramatically across his face. 

Spike, sitting quietly on the terrace by the entrance, speaks up, "'Ello, Alex." 

Xander walks over before responding. "Hello, Spike." He's since long gotten over Spike's Shanshu and can speak easily with him now. "I'm glad you kept the hair. Reminds me of how much I used to hate you. Good times!" 

"Why do you keep calling me zat?" Spike whines, but gets no answer. Shaking his head he continues, "Oui, oui, it is a difficult extravagance, what with ze price of peroxide in zese parts. But, 'ow extravagant _you_ are, zrowing away women like zat. Someday zey may be scarce." 

Xander sits next to him as Spike continues. "You know, I think now I shall pay a call on Anya, catch 'er on ze rebound, eh?" 

"Just like last time, huh?" Xander says in a voice devoid of any emotion. He's long since gotten over that incident. 

Confused, Spike utters, "'Uh?" 

"Never mind. When it comes to women, you're a true Democrat, a regular Gary Hart." 

They both look up when another magic carpet takes off from the airport. Spike eyes it carefully. "Ze carpet to Lisbon. You'd like to be on it, no?" 

"Why? What's in Lisbon?" Xander asks sharply. 

"Ze way to America, my dear Alex, zen onto ze free Pylean dimension." Xander appears to be unhappy as Spike rambles on. "I 'ave often speculated on why you don't return to America. Did you abscond with ze Council funds? Did you run off with a Slayer's girlfriend? I like to zink you poured hair conditioner down the drain, it's ze romantic in me." 

Xander, wistfully looking at the airfield, says, "A combination of all three." 

"And what in 'eavon's name brought you to Casablanca?" 

Xander turns to look Spike directly in the eye. "My health. I came for the waters." 

Spike blinks in confusion. "Waters? What waters? We're in ze middle of ze desert!" 

"I was mis-informed. What are _you_ doing here?" 

"I don't 'onestly know." Spike sighs deeply. "I woke up one day, 'ere in Casablanca, with zis 'orrible French accent, even zough I zink I'm actually British. I can't even say 'bugger' properly! And I am ze Chief of Police." 

At that moment Tara comes out. "Excuse me, Xander, but a gentleman inside has won twenty-thousand points. The cashier would like some more cheap plastic toys to pay him off." 

Nodding, Xander rises. So does the sun, but just briefly. "I'll get some from the safe." 

Tara is distraught. "I'm so upset, Xander. You know I can't understand—" 

Magnanimously, Xander pats her encouragingly on the shoulder, "Forget it, Tara. Mistakes like that happen all the time." 

"I'm awfully sorry." 

Spike joins them and the three re-enter the cafe, passing by Giles and Lorne who are now doing a rocking cover of Merle Haggard's "Okie from Muskogee". Xander pats them on the shoulder encouragingly, thereby using up his quota of encouraging gestures for the day. 

Spike speaks to Xander as they continue across the crowded room. "Alex, zere's going to be some excitement 'ere tonight. We are going to make an arrest in your bar." 

"Again?" Xander asks peevishly. 

"Zis is no ordinary arrest. A murderer, no less." 

Xander involuntarily glances toward the game room. Spike catches the look. "If you're zinking of warning 'im, don't put yourself out. 'Ee cannot possibly escape." 

Xander replies quickly and firmly. "I stick my neck out for nobody!" 

"A wise foreign policy," agrees Spike. 

All three continue up the stairs to the office. Once there Xander moves over to the safe while Spike keeps on yakking. "You know, Alex, we could 'ave made zis arrest earlier zis evening at ze Blue Suede Shoe. But out of my 'igh regard for you we're staging it 'ere. It will amuse your customers." 

"Our entertainment is enough," growls Xander. 

Spike's amused mood change to one of intense earnestness. "Alex, we are to 'ave an important guest tonight. Buffy, of ze Slayer Army, no less. We want 'er to be 'ere when we make ze arrest. A little demonstration of ze efficiency of my administration." 

"I see. And what's Buffy doing here?" Xander looks back over his shoulder at Spike. "She certainly didn't come all the way to Casablanca to witness a demonstration of your efficiency. Although I suppose she might be here to ride you like a wild stallion again. It's a good thing for my sanity you can't remember any of that. It would be better if _I_ couldn't remember any of it." 

Xander retrieves a pile of cheap genuine toys and gives them to Tara, "Here you are," he says gently. 

"It won't happen again, Xander." 

"Hey, don't sweat it, Tara. It happens." 

They all head out of the office and back down to the main room. Tara goes to the cashier while Xander and Spike approach the bar. 

"Spike, you've got something on your mind. Spill it." 

"'Ow observant you are. As a matter of fact I wanted to give you a word of advice." 

"Yeah?" Xander signals the bartender to bring over a drink. "Here, have an Orange-Kosher Dill Delight." 

"Zank you. Alex, zere are many exit spells sold in zis bar, but we know zat you 'ave never sold one. Zat is ze reason we permit you to remain open." 

"And I thought it was because we let you win at Donkey Kong," Xander observes ironically. 

"Zat is another reason. Zere is a person who 'as arrived in Casablanca on 'is way to America. 'Ee will offer a fortune to anyone who will furnish 'eem with an exit spell." 

"Yeah? What's his name?" 

"Liam o'McGonigle." 

"Angel!" blurts Xander, in a low voice. 


	4. Confrontations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where there is a debate about Xander's eye color.

**Part 3:** Confrontations 

Spike watches Xander very carefully, "Yes, I do believe 'ee is also known as Angel. Alex, zat is ze first time I 'ave ever seen you so impressed." 

"Well, he's succeeded in impressing half the world. Heck, you were part of it, back during the BWAHAAHAHA," Xander points out even as he tries to pass it off casually. 

"Be zat as it may, it is my duty to make sure 'ee does not impress ze other 'alf. Alex, Angel will never reach America. 'Ee stays in Casablanca." 

Xander chuckles in reply. "It'll be interesting to see how he manages." 

"Manages what?" 

"His escape." 

"But I just told you—" 

"Stop it, you pasty faced limey! He escaped from a hell dimension, got out of Dodge (Caravan XLS, tu-tone, A/C, heated seats, only 45Kmi, selling cheap) with Buffy, survived BWAHAAHAHA— _without_ having to 'get better'—and the slayers have been chasing him all over Europe and still haven't caught him." 

"Zis is ze end of ze chase," Spike informs him with solemn dignity. 

Xander just snorts. "Cheap plastic toys worth twenty thousand points says it ain't." 

"Is zat a serious offer?" Spike is interested despite his better judgment. 

"I just paid out twenty a moment ago. I'd like to get it back." 

"Make it ten. I'm only a poor corrupt official, with no tan and an 'orrible accent." 

"OK." 

"Done!" assents Spike, greedily. "No matter 'ow clever 'ee is, 'ee still needs an exit talisman." Then he slyly added, "Or should I say two." 

"Why two?" inquires Xander, suddenly curious. 

Spike smirks. "'Ee is traveling with a lady." 

"He'll take one." Xander is very sure of himself. 

"I zink not. I 'ave seen ze lady, and if 'ee did not leave 'er in L.A., Marseilles or London, 'ee won't leave 'er in Casablanca." 

Xander is still sure of himself in this regard as he countered. "Maybe he's not quite as romantic as you are," he said, missing the reference to Los Angeles. 

"It doesn't matter. Zere is no exit talisman for 'im," Spike declared flatly. 

"Spike, whatever gave you the impression that I might be interested in helping him escape? Though I can respect him, I still hate the Dude of Dead. I've always hated him, as I've stated in many episodes." 

"Because, my dear Alex, I believe under zat cynical shell of yours, you are at 'eart a sap." Xander frowns but Spike continues. "Oh, laugh if you will, but I 'appen to be familiar with your record. Let me point out just a few items. In 1998 you saved your friends from a bomb in ze local 'igh school. In 2000, you were ze 'eart' zat 'elped defeat ADAM. Two years later you stopped your friend, ze 'ead waiter 'ere, from destroying ze world." 

"And well paid for it on all occasions." 

"Zere was no money involved!" 

"Well...umm, I got laid the one time. And major female grope and huggage on the others." 

Spike waves dismissively. "Either way, I 'ave my orders." 

"You really are Buffy's little spank-monkey after all," observes Xander. 

Spike stands suddenly in righteous indignation. "My dear Alex, you overestimate ze influence of ze slayers. I don't interfere with zem, and zey don't interfere with me. In Casablanca I am master of my fate, I am captain of my—" 

"Buffy is here, sir," interrupts his aide, Tara. Spike jumps up to leave (which is quite an accomplishment since he is already standing). 

It was Xander's turn to smirk. "You were saying?" 

"Excuse me, my sword needs polishing." Spike rushes away as Xander smiles wickedly. 

\--- 

Back inside the cafe, Spike goes up to Willow. "Willow, see zat Buffy gets a good table, one up close to 'ze ladies." 

Muttering to herself Willow says, "Damn, If I'd known she swung that way maybe I wouldn't have left her army." More loudly, addressing Spike directly, "I have already given her the best, knowing she is a pompous bitch and would take it anyway." 

Spike heads over to one of his officers and whispers to him. "Take 'im quietly. Put two men at every exit." 

"Yes sir, everything is ready, sir." Graham salutes and goes off to speak to the other members of the gendarme entourage. Seeing that all is well, Spike saunters over to Buffy's table. 

"Good evening, ladies." Spike tries to smile at Buffy, Dawn, and the other slayers, but is unable, as will be explained momentarirly. 

"Good evening, Captain William," answers Buffy solemnly, taking her part in this story way too seriously. 

Dawn pipes up, "Won't you join us, Captain?" 

"Zank you, it is a pleasure to 'ave you 'ere, Buffy." Spike sits at the table. 

Buffy addresses the waiter, "Champagne and a tin of caviar." 

The crowd erupts loudly. "IT'S A *JUICE BAR*!" Buffy cringes in embarrassment. 

Spike breaks in, "May I recommend ze Apple-Tabasco-Zucchini Squasher?" 

"Thank you. I'll have one of those." 

The waiter responds with a curt, "Very well, ma'am," and leaves. 

"A very interesting club," comments Buffy as she regains her earlier confidence and pompousness. 

"Especially so tonight," agrees Spike. "In a few minutes you will see ze arrest of ze man 'ew murdered your lackeys." 

"I expected no less, Captain." Buffy grins coldly as she surveys the room. 

\--- 

In the game room, Doyle is standing by the D&D table, watching the action. He does not notice two gendarmes approaching from behind. 

"Doyle?" Forrest inquires. 

Doyle spins. "Em, ya?" 

"Will you please come with me?" 

"Right. OK, Lemme cash in my tickets, yeah? I'm thinkin' I could get me-self the zoo set." 

Graham, the other officer, nods and follows him to the cashier's window where he exchanges the tickets for the zoo pieces. 

"Pretty lucky, yeah? Those animals are so cute! I love the panda!" 

The cashier hands him the little box full of brightly colored pieces. Doyle looks around and sees guards stationed at every door. He approaches one of the doors slowly, then suddenly bolts between the guards and slams the door shut behind him. By the time the guards get the door open again Doyle has pulled a Super-Soaker squirt gun. He fires orange paint behind him and pandemonium erupts. He continues to rush down a hallway, into the main room, and runs into Xander. 

"Alex, Alex help me, man!" 

"Don't be a fool, you can't get away," Xander informs him remorselessly. 

Doyle is frantic, "Alex, hide me. Do something, man! You must be helpin' me, Alex. Do something!" 

The guards catch up and drag him away. Xander just watches, impassive. Legs dangling uselessly as the guards haul him bodily away, Doyle still pleads, "Alex, ya' bastard! Alex!" 

Buffy has witnessed the whole thing and comments to Spike. "Excellent, Captain." 

Xander continues to impassively watch the scene as a customer walks by. "When they come to get me I hope you'll be more of a help." Xander's reply is iceberg-lettuce cold in his reply, "I stick my neck out for nobody." He walks out to the middle of the room, an expectant hush falls, some people are getting ready to leave. He clears his throat and makes a loud announcement: 

"Sorry for the disturbance, folks, but it's all over now. Everything is all right. Just sit down and have a good time. Enjoy yourselves. Celery for everyone, on the house!" 

He rounds on Giles and Lorne, "Alright guys, play something!" They start right in on a rocking cover of "Twinkle Twinkle, Little Star", Lorne singing gustily. 

Spike sits calmly at Buffy's table as Xander walks by. Xander behaves as if he doesn't notice them. However Spike calls to get his attention. "Oh, Alex!" 

Xander reluctantly stops and reluctantly moves to their table. 

"Alex, zis is Buffy of ze Slayer Army." 

It's obvious there has been a serious falling out between them. They are stiff, formal and barely polite as they reluctantly regard each other. Buffy asks, "How do you do, Mister Harris?" 

Xander replies tonelessly, "Not bad, considering. Seems you've mis-informed me," he says, glancing sideways at Spike, "The waters here are not as great as you said they'd be." 

"I flunked geography. So sue me!" Buffy spat out, unprofessionally breaking character. 

Spike jumps in. "And you already know Dawn?" 

Xander nods to Dawn, a small yet genuine smile on his face. 

"Please do join us, Mr. Harris," repeats Buffy, as she struggles to get back into the role. He reluctantly sits with them. 

Spike, blissfully unaware of the tension between them, speaks, "We are very 'onored tonight, Alex. Buffy is ze reason ze Slayer Army enjoys ze reputation it 'as today." 

Buffy looks sharply at Spike, "You say 'Slayer Army' as though you expect there to be others." 

Spike is wonderfully uncaring. "Well, personally, Buffy, I will take what cums-errr, comes." 

Buffy, disgusted with him, turns back to Xander. "Do you mind if I ask you a few questions? Unofficially, of coarse." 

Xander, playing it reluctantly cool and reserved, answers dryly, "Make it official, if you like." 

"What is your nationality?" 

Xander is confused. "Huh?" 

"Just answer the damn question, Zeppo!" Buffy snarls, extremely furious that she has broken character again. 

"Buffy!" Xander is incredulous. "You _know_ me!" 

Taking a deep breath, counting to 7.8214 by sixteenths, Buffy professionally pushes her anger aside and leans over and hisses into his ear, "Just go with it, Xander. I always loved this scene and I want to play it right." 

"Fine, have it your way," Xander sighs. "OK, where was I? Oh, yeah..." He assumes a complete poker face and resumes the dialog, "I'm a Vegetarian." 

"Zat makes Alex a citizen of ze world!" beams Spike. 

"I was born in New York City before my parents moved to Sunnydale, if that helps." 

Buffy nods and continues her interrogation. "I understand you came here from Sunnydale after the time of The First BaSHinG." 

"You were the one who sent me here! 'Healing' waters you said!" he bites out sarcastically (but also reluctantly). 

"Are you one of those people who cannot imagine Slayers in their beloved Sunnydale?" Buffy asks, smoking Xander a venomous glare for not getting into the spirit of the scene. 

"It's not particularly my beloved Sunnydale. Besides which, who would want a big smoking hole in the ground?" 

"Can you imagine us in Acapulco?" Dawn chirps brightly. 

Xander's tone is lighter, less dry as he answers Dawn, "When you get there, ask me." 

Spike cheers, "'Oo! diplomatist!" 

Buffy grinds on. "How about New York?" 

Xander finally shows a little amusement. "Well there are certain sections of New York I would advise you not to go. New Jersey, on the other hand, is yours for the taking. Please!" 

"Aha," Buffy exclaims for no apparent reason, "who do you think will win the demon war?" 

"I haven't the slightest idea." Xander leans his chair back and nonchalantly pops a radish in his mouth, crunching down on it loudly. 

"Alex is completely neutral about everything. And zat includes woman, too," interrupts Spike. 

"You weren't always so carefully neutral. We have a complete dossier on you." Buffy gleefully takes out a little black book and begins reading from a page. "Alexander LaVelle Harris, American, Age 25. Does not want to return to his country." She snaps the book closed. "The reason is vague. We also know what you did in Sunnydale, Mr. Harris, and why you left." 

Xander brings his chair down in a clatter. "Buffy, it's a fricken' hole in the ground!" He is getting extremely annoyed with this scene as she attempts to play her part a little too close to the original. He reaches over and snatches the book from her. 

"Don't worry," she says, "we're not going to broadcast the information." 

"Like I care," he snorts. Xander glances down at the book, flipping though a few pages. "Hey, are my eyes really a lovely warm chocolate brown? All the fics say that, I just never really believed it. I guess it must be true, cause hey look," Xander announces, waving the book, "it's 'official'!" 

"You will forgive me, Mr. Harris, but the point is an enemy of slayers has come to Casablanca and we are checking up on anybody who can be of any help to us." 

Xander reluctantly resigns himself to Buffy's games. Not only was she a pompous bitca who didn't know jack about geography, but she was always stubborn about doing things the way she wanted to do them. He now just wants to get to the end of the scene as painlessly as possible. Looking pointedly at Spike, he answers her. "My interest in whether Angel stays or goes is strictly a sporting one." 

"In this case you have no sympathy for the fox, eh?" 

"Not particularly. As pointed out earlier, sympathy is in short supply. I understand the point of view of the hound, too." 

Buffy seethed. "Angel published the foulest lies in the LA papers until the very day we reluctantly swept in to save his ass in the BWAHAAHAHA, and even after that he continued to print scandal sheets from a sewer main in Oslo." 

Spike, despite an inner sense he'd always disliked Angel, felt compelled to point out, "Of course, one must admit 'ee 'as great courage." 

"I admit he is very clever. Three times he has slipped through our fingers. We intend not to let that happen again." 

Xander decided to get up, his patience with her finally leaving with the hot blond number just now exiting through the door. "You'll excuse me. Your business is demon hunting, mine is running a juice bar." 

Buffy dismissed him with a curt. "Good evening then, Mr. Harris." 

Xander gratefully heads for the game room where he can pick up his game of solitary tic-tac-toe, leaving Spike and Buffy in his wake. 

"You see, Buffy, you 'ave nothing to worry about with Alex." 

"Perhaps," Buffy said as she eyed Xander's retreating back through squinted eyes. She turns as a new couple walks in the front door. 

It is the infamous, courageous, depressing Mope-Miester himself: Angel. And a stunning young woman, dressed in a simple beautiful white gown, is walking next to him. She is so beautiful everyone turns to gaze at her. It is none other than Ms. Cordelia Chase. 


	5. A Brown Eyed Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And a short lesson in Welsh.

**Part 4:** A Brown Eyed Girl 

The maitre d', Tara, approaches the stunning-like-a-taser couple. "Yes?" 

"I reserved a table. For Angel." 

"Yes, Monsieur Angel, right this way." Tara does not remember who Angel is due to a dearth of cross-overs. 

As they head toward the table they pass by the dais where Giles and Lorne are playing. Cordelia looks at Giles and Lorne curiously, a little bit of surprise showing on her face. Giles and Lorne notice her as well and make great effort to keep on playing and singing their rocking cover of "Disco Duck". After she goes by Giles, steals another look in her direction. He leans over to Lorne and whispers, "Is that who I think it is?" 

"Sure looks like it, my chocolate layer cake with rum-raspberry filling, a whipped-cream frosting and marzipan animals on top." They both just shake their heads in wonder and confusion and continue the jiving beat. 

Another interested party also observes the new couple from the bar as Tara seats Cordelia. Angel sits opposite and surveys the room. Tara goes to get their waiter. 

Across the room, Spike and Buffy look up from their table. Spike only knows Angel as the famous vampire fighting the Slayer Army's unjust persecution of all demons, good or bad. Buffy, on the other hand, sees her former broody star-crossed love with the queen bit-cah of high-school on his arm. She can barely restrain herself as Dawn tries to apply a full-Nelson to hold her down. 

Angel speaks up to the waiter. "A vodka martini, and a Pink Lady for the lady, please." 

The waiter is annoyed as only the faux-French can be. "It's a juice bar you Irish moron! Pick something else." 

His morose broodiness increases tenfold. "Ah, oh...well, then, how about a Cranberry-Mayonnaise Mixer and a Mustard-Bananana Blend for her." 

"Oui, oui, very good." 

Angel shakes his head before addressing Cordelia. "I saw no one of Doyle's description." Worry now competes with Broodiness for square-footage on his forehead while Concern has cornered the territory around his shoulders. 

Cordelia is feeling distinctly uncomfortable. "Angel, I-I feel distinctly uncomfortable, we shouldn't stay." She doesn't want to stay. 

"If we walk out so soon it would only call attention to us. Perhaps Doyle is in another part of the bar." 

Wesley walks up to them in an affected furtive manner. "Pardon me, but you look like a couple who are on their way to America. Wink wink, nudge nudge." Wesley waggles his brows as he winks at and nudges Angel. 

Angel's forehead clears briefly as Worry and Broodiness make a tactical retreat when he recognizes Wesley. "Hey, Wes! Wow, it's great to see you! You musta been part of the same group Cordy was in, right?" he joyfully exclaims (though not _too_ joyful!), indicating Cordelia with a wave of his hand. 

"It would seem," agrees Wesley. He nods a greeting to Cordelia. 

"Well? What do you have for me?" asks Angel, as Worry and Brood join forces and make a determined advance on his hairline. 

"Look, I know you can be a real idiot at times—okay, most of the time—but just play along, will 'ya?" Wes whispers fiercely. Then he takes the ring off his finger and in a louder voice continues. "You will find a market there for this ring. I am forced to sell it at great sacrifice. No less than twenty virgin pygmy goats." 

Angel gives Wes a big wink to let him know he understands the game. Wes rolls his eyes and sighs in exasperation. 

"Thank you, but I hardly think—" begins Angel. 

"Then perhaps for the lady. The ring is quite unique..." Wes holds the ring down for their inspection: it's gold and shows a relief of the Mickey Mouse profile used by the PTBs in all their most confidential communications. 

"Oh yes," Angel says, finally getting it now, "I'm very interested, wink wink, nudge nudge." 

"Good!" Wesley sits. 

"What is your name?" Angel does a much better job of the pretense now that Concern has abandoned its position on his shoulders and entered the fray on his forehead, distracting Brood and Worry. 

"Wesley Wyndham-Pryce. At your service, sir." 

Cordelia glances up and sees Spike approaching from behind. "Angel..." she warns. 

Angel whispers to Wesley, "I'll meet you in a few minutes at the bar." Then speaking louder, "Thank you for showing us the ring, but I do not think we will be buying it." 

Wesley sighs dramatically and puts the ring away. "Such a bargain, but that is your decision?" 

"I'm sorry, it is." 

Wesley gets up and leaves just as Spike arrives. "Angel, is it not?" inquires Spike. 

"Yes. Don't you remember me, bleach-bum? And what's with that awful accent?" 

Spike stiffens with pride in the face of this insult. "I am Captain William, Prefect of Police," he announces loudly and proudly. Then he leans in a bit. "I am told I'm suffering from amnesia and I don't know 'ow I got 'ere, or why I speak with zis 'orrible accent." 

Cordelia can't help but snark, to no one in particular, "Amnesia? That's just getting so-o-o common. You know, I started this trend! I was cool before everyone even knew amnesia was cool. Go find you own cheap plot device!" 

Angel cuts her off impatiently, "OK then, what is it you want?" 

She sits back in a sulk and comforts herself, secure in the knowledge that she still has one more cheap and cheesy plot device up her sleeve that no-one else had taken... Yet. 

"Merely to welcome you to Casablanca and wish you a pleasant stay. It is not often we 'ave so distinguished a visitor." 

Angel responds politely, "Thank you. I hope you'll forgive me Captain, but the present administration has not always been so cordial. May I present Ms. Cordelia Chase." 

"I was informed you were ze most beautiful woman to ever visit Casablanca. Zat was a gross understatement." 

Cordelia is easily swayed by such smarminess and cheers up immediately. She is friendly but reserved, giggling a little at Spike's idiocy. "You are very kind, even if you are a copycat." 

"Won't you join us," invites Angel. 

Spike sits down and calls a waiter, "If you'll permit me... Oh, Willow, a pitcher of your best Maple Syrup-Orange-Artichoke Smasher, and put it on my tab." 

"Very well." She looks startled at the sight of Angel and Cordelia but she quickly hides it; she's beyond caring at this point. She promises herself to go talk to the Fanfic Characters Guild shop representative (FCG Local 93438) as soon as she can, as she's just about had it with this story. 

"No, Captain, please," protests Angel. 

"No, please, it is a little game we play. Zey put it on my tab, I tear it up. It is very convenient." 

Cordelia looks in Giles's direction. "Captain, the geezer who's playing the guitar, I'm sure I've seen him before." 

"Giles?" 

"Yes!" 

"'Ee came from Sunnydale, with Alex." 

"Alex? Alex?" she asks softly. "You don't mean...Xander?!" Her voice rises suddenly. "Xander's here?!" 

Spike smirks broadly, because he's actually physically incapable of smiling. He's seen the best doctors and plastic surgeons but they say there's no cure. They have prescribed physical therapy to help. "Yes, Ms. Chase, I do believe some people refer to 'im as Xander. But to me 'ee is Alex, and Alex is—" 

"Is what? What's happened to him?" she demands, genuinely curious. 

"Well, Mademoiselle, 'ee's ze kind of man zat, well, if I were a woman and I...", he explained, tapping himself, "were not around I would be in love with 'im. But since zis is not a slash fic, and is only rated for young audiences, we won't go any further down zat route, agreed?" 

All present throughout the establishment raise their glasses and nod their solemn agreement before Spike continues. "Ah, but what a fool I am, talking to a beautiful woman about another man." 

Spike then jumps to his feet as Buffy comes upon them. 

"Excuse me. Ah Buffy! Ms. Chase, Angel, may I present Buffy Summers of ze Slayer Army." 

Buffy smiles coldly, though not as well as Xander since she gave up daily practices with her refrigerator. "Captain, no need to introduce us, we know each other." Rolling her eyes she then addresses Angel. "Sheesh, that amnesia of his is so-o-o annoying! So. Angel. How do you do? This is a pleasure I have long looked forward to." 

Neither Angel or Cordelia respond warmly. "I'm sure you'll excuse me if I am not gracious, but you see, Buffy, I am a Souled Vampire in the Great Fight Against All That's Evil (GFAATE) and anything else that might limit my supply of hair product (aetmlmsohp**)." This is a rather interesting statement as Brood and Worry have ambushed Concern into a spot near his temple and are making it a deal it can't refuse. They are about to all join forces for a full-on attack of Angel's hairline. He won't be needing hair products for very much longer. 

(** A Welsh word, pronounced like "ate my soap") 

Buffy briefly loses control, hearing her ex-love talk so glibly of hair products. "So what?! You're a bastard, two-timing scum pig who ran out on me when I needed you most!! And now you are subject to the authority of the Slayer Army!" 

Angel stands in outrage. "I have never accepted that privilege, and now I am on free soil! err-sand. Free sand!! Yes, free sand!" 

Buffy calms down somewhat before she continues. "I want to discuss some matters arising from your presence on this sand." 

"This is hardly the time or place." 

Buffy is hard and insistent like the [simile censored due to inappropriate content]. "Then we shall state another time and place. Tomorrow at ten, in the Prefect's office, with your skanky 'ho. here." 

"Hey! At least I'm not a pompous, overbearing, insufferable, bombastic bottle-blond!" 

"No, you're just a plain she-goat," Buffy snaps, rounding on Cordelia. "And a 'ho!" 

Both girls bristle as the crowd chants, "Cat fight, cat fight!" Odds makers have Buffy 3:1, in the second by TKO. 

Angel quickly addresses Spike, attempting to cut off the two. "Captain William, I am under your authority. Is it your order that I come to your office tomorrow?" 

"Let us say...it is my request. Zat is a much more pleasant word." 

"Very well." 

Spike and Buffy bow curtly. 

"Ms. Chase," says Spike, as he excuses himself. 

"Ho'," snaps Buffy. 

Buffy and Spike leave together, Spike whispering in Buffy's ear, "A very clever tactical retreat." Buffy looks sharply, but his face is a non-committal smirk, as that's the best the therapists have been able to do for him. 

Angel is still standing after they've left. "God, what a Bee-atch she's turned into. Twice as bad as you ever were." He pauses briefly and sits. His tone becomes dramatically serious, "This time they really mean to stop me." His hairline is now visibly receding under the combined onslaught of Brood, Worry and Concern. 

Cordelia is quite plainly afraid. "Angel, I'm plainly afraid for you." 

"We have been in difficult places before, haven't we?" He smiles. 

"No, I mean your hair, it's receding again!" 

He begins to panic, then manfully sucks it up. "I don't have time to recede!" he forcefully declares. 

Cordelia smiles in return but her eyes are troubled. Angel looks about and sees Spike and Buffy whispering together. He then spots Wesley at the bar. "I must find out what Wesley knows," says a conspiratorial Angel. 

"Be careful," says a concerned Cordelia. 

"I will, don't worry," says a confident Angel as he leaves for the bar. 

Cordelia still looks troubled as her gaze wanders over to Giles and Lorne. They return a worried glance in her direction. Cordelia watches them carefully. 

\--- 

At the bar, Wesley signals for a drink as Angel casually sits next to him. "Mr. Pryce, the ring, could I see it again?" 

"Yes, Mr. Angel." He gives Angel a curious look. "What happened there with the hair?" 

"It's a guilt thing. Comes and goes." Angel turns to Andrew behind the bar. "A champagne cocktail, please," he orders. 

"JUICE BAR, YOU MORON!" The entire crowd shouts out, many rising to their feet, chairs clattering to the floor, ready to toss the infidels out on the street. 

"Uh, OK, then I'll take an...Egg Salad-Mango Blend." The crowd settles back down. 

Wesley presents the ring to Angel, whereupon Angel looks at it. "We read five times you were killed in eight different places," Wesley says. "Our mathematician is still trying to figure that part out," he sheepishly admits. 

Angel replies wryly, not too dryly, and fairly amused, "As you can see it is true every time. Thank heaven I found you, Wesley. I'm looking for Doyle. I heard he was with you in the same group that got better, and he is supposed to help me." 

Wesley is sympathetic yet disdainful in his reply, "Doyle cannot even help himself, the little leprechaun. He is under arrest for murder. He was arrested here earlier tonight." 

Angel absorbs the shock quietly, eyes downcast, shoulders slumped, as Guilt now joins the other three for the final assault. "I see." 

"But we who are still free will do all we can. We are organized underground like everywhere else. Tomorrow night there is a meeting at the main waste treatment plant. If you would come..." Wes stops when Andrew brings the drink. 

\--- (wholly unnecessary and gratuitous scene change...) 

Cordelia sits alone at her table. She waves a waiter to come over. "Will you ask the gray beard guitar player to come over here, please?" 

"Very well, Mademoiselle." 

\--- (...see?) 

Meanwhile, Spike sidles up to the bar near Angel and Wesley. "'Ow's ze jewelry business, Wesley?" 

"Er, not so good," Wesley nervously replies, then turns to Andrew, "May I have my check please?" 

"Too bad you weren't 'ere earlier, Angel. We 'ad quite a bit of excitement 'ere, didn't we, Wesley?" 

Wesley hurriedly gets up to leave. "Ah, yes. Excuse me, gentlemen." 

"My bill?" Angel asks Andrew. 

"No, no. Two 'abenero-Grape Gushers, please," Spike requests from Andrew. 

"Yes sir." 

\--- 

Giles and Lorne wheel up to Cordelia's table. Trepidation, and a little fear, is stamped on their faces. Cordelia is also not as self-possessed as she wants to pretend. There's a lot of deep heavy intense stuff going on here and she's fully aware her virtually non-existent acting talents are not quite up to snuff. 

"Hello, Giles. Hello, Lorne." 

"Hello, Cordelia. We never expected to see you again," they answer simultaneously. "We thought—" 

She sighs tiredly at having to continue the farce of a running gag. "Yeah, yeah, I got better. They needed one more to get the group rate—and I'm such a friggin' saint!" she mutters, sarcasm etching each word like coarsely cut crystal. 

Giles sits with the guitar, Lorne keeps the wireless microphone ready. 

She says with a soft sigh, "It's been a long time." 

"Yes, my huevos rancheros topped with green and red chili, and a rolled up flour tortilla with honey-butter on the side, and flan for dessert. Lot of water under that bridge," answers Lorne. 

Cordelia smiles sadly. "Some of the old songs, Giles, please." 

"I never played when you were around," Giles gently chides her. 

"Just go with it, you old fart. The author is tired of trying to tie up every inconsistency in a nice neat package, alright?!" she hissed at him. 

"Yes ma'am!" Then in an aside to Lorne, Giles mumbles, "She's almost as bad as Buffy!" 

"You don't know the half of it, my hot-dog and baked beans, with a yummy cole slaw and garlic potato salad with parsley garnish on the side, plus the freshest corn on the cob since Dorothy came back to Kansas, with homemade mint-chocolate chip rootbeer floats." Lorne answers sympathetically. 

Giles starts to strum a few random chords but he is obviously still nervous in her presence. 

"Where's Xander?" asks Cordelia. 

Giles answers evasively. "I do not know. I have not seen him all night." 

"When will he be back?" 

This time Lorne answers. "Not tonight, no more. He ain't coming. He went home." 

"Does he always leave so early?" 

Lorne is stuck. "Uh, he never...well... He's got a girl! Yeah, that's it! At the Blue Suede Shoe. He goes up there all the time." 

"You always were a terrible liar. Both of you," she chided them. 

"Leave him alone, Cordelia. You are bad luck to him." Giles reprimands her lightly. 

Cordelia is astonished. "Giles, I'm astonished! He's the one who cheated on me! And I got impaled! How can you say _I'm_ bad luck?" she angrily demands. 

"You broke his heart when you took off for L.A. Without even so much as an unkind word!" 

All three look saddened. 

"Play it once, Giles. For old times sake." 

"I do not know what you mean, Cordelia. Duh, remember, I never played when you were around." 

"Well, fine! Just play anything, I don't care!" she spat. 

Giles begins to play a sequence of double-stops. 

"Sing it, Lorne." 

Giles plays, Lorne jumps in after the rocking opening bars: 

_Hey where did we go,  
Days when the rains came,  
_

The crowd sings along. 

_And you  
My brown eyed girl,  
You my brown eyed girl  
_

The crowd starts clapping and stomping their feet. 

_Whatever happened To Tuesday and so slow  
_

Lorne waves to the crowd in the room and the crowd jumps up and dances. 

_Going down the old mine  
With a transistor radio  
_

Suddenly the door to the game room slams open, Xander storming out. He's heard the music and he's furious! 

The crowd splits into competing economic theory factions and start hurling monatary and fiscal policies at each other. 

__Do you remember when we used to sing  
Sha la la la la la la la la la la tee da !!!   


Xander, eyes flashing like a thunderstorm, breath whistling like a tornado, arms flailing like a hurricane, storms up to the pair. "Giles, I thought I told you never to play—" 

He sees her. 

Giles stops playing, Lorne stops singing. The crowd groans. 

Shocked, Xander's eyes lock with Cordelia's. 

A long, drawn out, yet not overly dramatic moment ensues. Giles and Lorne sneak away as the whole place hushes. The ticking of the clock in the house across town can be heard plainly as the moments stretch on and on like the marshmallow taffy you made when you were a kid. 

Xander and Cordelia continue to stare at each other as Spike and Angel come back from the bar. Spike sees Xander and speaks to Cordelia, "Well, you were asking about Alex, and 'ere 'ee is. Mademoiselle, may I present—" 

Xander can barely utter the words through a tight throat, "I thought—" 

"I got better," Cordelia says with an exasperated sigh. 

Xander snorts. "Yeah, it's a goddamn epidemic of wellness going around. I should alert the CDC." 

"Oh, you've already met Alex?" observes Spike. No one answers. "Well zen, perhaps you also—" 

"How do you do?" intones Angel, trying to draw Xander's attention away from Cordelia. 

Xander blinks and shakes his head sharply before looking over at Angel. "Just peachy, Peaches. Or should I call you Chrome-dome, now?" 

Angel, trying to be grown up and gentlemanly about it ignores the snip. "One hears a great deal about 'Al' in Casablanca, I had no idea it was you." 

"And about Angel everywhere," answers Xander. 

"Won't you join us for a drink?" 

Spike laughs at this, "Oh no, Alex never—" 

"Thanks, I will." 

"Well, a precedent is being broken. Tara!" calls Spike. 

"This is a very interesting bar. I congratulate you," Angel comments. 

They are coldly stiff, not wanting to get everybody too upset. 

"And I congratulate you, Angel." 

"What for?" Angel is a bit suspicious. 

"Your work." 

"Thank you, I try." 

"We all try. You succeed." Xander has grown up quite a bit since we've last seen him. 

Spike, never one to be left out, interjects, "I can't get over you two. She was asking about you earlier, in a way zat made me extremely jealous." 

Cordelia spoke warmly to Xander, "I wasn't sure you were the same. Let's see, the last time we met—" 

"Was at graduation," Xander bit out through clenched teeth. 

Cordelia ignores his tone. "How nice. You remembered." 

"Not an easy day to forget." 

"No," she sadly agrees. 

"I remember every detail. The Mayor had gray scales. You wore blue." 

"Yes. I put that dress away. When the High School is rebuilt I'll wear it again." 

"It _was_ rebuilt. I rebuilt it!" he practically snarled. Regaining his composure Xander continued quietly. "But now it's all a giant smoking sinkhole, so I guess that's a moot point, or a moat point, depending on your point-of-view." 

"You are becoming quite 'uman again, Alex. I suppose I 'ave you to zank for zat, Mademoiselle," comments Spike. 

Angel jumps back into the conversation, saying, "Cordelia, I don't wish to be the one to say it, but it's getting late, and I need to find a wig." 

Spike agrees. "Ah, so it is. And we 'ave a curfew 'ere in Casablanca. It would never do for ze chief of police to be caught after 'ours and 'ave to fine 'imself." He chuckles idiotically. 

Xander and Cordelia share another look. Angel waves for the waiter. "I hope we didn't overstay our welcome," Angel says to Xander. 

"Not at all, Mr. UnRIPed." Angel groans at Xander's childishness. Maybe he hasn't really grown up all that much after all. 

"Your check, sir." 

Xander snatches the check. "It's my party." 

Unbidden, Giles and Lorne start in on a rocking cover of "It's My Party". (Go ahead, cry if you want to.) 

Spike just can't shut up. "Another precedent gone. Zis 'as been a very interesting evening. I'll call you a cab. Gasoline rationing, time of ze night." He leaves to go call for the cab. 

"We'll come again," Angel says to Xander, almost a challenge. 

Xander answers coolly. "Anytime." 

"Say goodnight to Giles and Lorne for me," requests Cordelia. 

"I will." No emotion is dripping from Xander's voice. 

"There's still nobody in this world who can play "Brown Eyed Girl" like Giles and Lorne." 

"Like you'd know?" Xander says, this time sarcasm dripping. He struggles to control himself and more gently adds, "Anyway, they haven't played it in a long time." 

Cordelia smiles at Xander. "Goodnight." 

"Goodnight." 

Xander and Angel nod silently at each other before Cordelia and Angel head toward the door. Xander sits back down at the table staring at them go, his face an unreadable mask. 

\--- 

Outside, Angel asks Cordelia, "A very puzzling fellow, Xander. He was always such a twit in high school, but it appears he's changed a bit. What was he really like?" 

Cordelia doesn't look at him when she answers. "Oh, I really can't say, even though I dated him for almost a year." She too is getting tired of playing out the charade, but what's a poor aspiring no-talent actress to do? 

They continue to the sidewalk and join Spike. "Tomorrow, at ten, at ze Prefect's office," he reminds them. 

"We'll be there." 

They get in the cab. Spike lights up a smoke, as he practices his bemused smirk while he watches the cab drive away. 


	6. The Obligatory Angsty and Less Funny Part

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oodles of angsty drama

**Part 5:** The Obligatory Angsty and Less Funny Part 

It's late and Al's is closed, the garish neon sign is off, the doorway lit only by the flashes from the airport beacon. Inside, the lights are also out, the customers gone, the vegetables and fruits safe until tomorrow. 

Xander sits alone in the dark with a glass of some dark drink in front of him. Another glass sits opposite, empty, a steel mixing canister between. He refills his glass and drinks deeply. He just sits, stone-cold expressionless, his face revealing nothing of the inner storminess. The five-day forecast is for unsettled emotions to linger, deep valley fog in the mornings. 

The flashes from the beacon filter into the room through the windows, creating a surreal atmosphere as Giles comes in. He walks over and stands uncertainly by Xander, watching him a few moments before speaking. 

"Xander?" 

No response. 

"Xander!" 

"Yeah?" 

"Xander, aren't you going to bed?" 

"Not right now." 

Giles realizes Xander is in a very grim and morose (and unsettled) mood. He tries to lighten the mood as best he can, which is quite difficult for him as a stodgey Brit. This is really a job for Lorne, but the singing demon—who's sideline hobby is collecting and memorizing restaurant menus—is off polishing his horns. 

"Are you planning on going to bed in the near future?" 

"No." 

"Are you ever going to bed?" 

"No." 

Giles takes off his glasses to polish them because he's expected to at this point. "Well right, then I'm not sleepy either." 

Xander glances up at Giles. "Good, then have a drink," he commands, waving at the foul liquid in the mixing cannister. 

"Oh no, not me!" Giles shudders. "It makes me ill just to read the menu." 

"Then don't have a drink." Xander couldn't give a crap one way or the other. 

"Xander, let's get out of here." 

"No. I'm waiting for her." 

"Please, Xander. Let's go. There's nothing but trouble for you here." 

"She's coming back. I know she's coming back." 

"We'll take the car and drive all night. We'll get drunk—on real booze. We'll go fishing until she's gone." 

"Shut up and go home, will ya'?" 

"No, I'm staying here." And Giles sits down at the stool he usually uses, picks up the guitar and begins to play soft chords. 

This time Xander initiates the dialog. "They grab Doyle and she walks in. Well that's the way it goes. One in, one out." He looks from Giles to the door and back again. 

"Giles?" 

"Yes?" 

"Giles, if it's December, 1941, in Casablanca, what time is it in Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania?" 

"1941? Xander, it's 2005!" He wonders if all the Twinkies Xander has ingested over the years have rotted the remains of Xander's mind. Lord knows Xander has little enough to spare. 

Xander rambles on as if Giles had never spoken. "I'll bet they're asleep in Wilkes-Barre. I'll bet they're asleep all over America. I'll bet they're even asleep in Pylea!" He pounds the table in anguish and buries his head in his hands, shoulders shaking. Then he looks up, eye red, clearly fighting for control as he's about to mangle one of the greatest movie lines of all time: 

"Of all the juice bars, of all the towns, in all the world, she walks into mine!" 

He holds his head in his hands, convulsing with dry sobs. 

Giles intelligently says nothing, just keeps on fooling with his instrument. 

Xander suddenly demands, "What's that you're playing?" 

"A rocking cover of Chattanooga Choo Choo." 

"Well stop it! You know what I want to hear." 

"No, I don't," Giles lies, trying to beg off. 

"You played it for her, you can play it for me!" shouts Xander. 

"Well, I don't think I can remember it." 

"If she can stand it, I can. Play it!" 

"Yes, Xander." As he begins to play an unseen backing orchestra joins in from out of nowhere. Giles and Xander look around frantically in confusion. "I hate when Sweet does that," they both say simultaneously. 

Xander hears the music fade away as memories come flooding back to him, memories of those long-ago, carefree halcyon days in Sunnydale... 

.  
.  
.  


He sees all the ignorant kids of the high school entering under the main entrance archway. 

He remembers being scared spitless as Cordelia is 'driving' them through the woods to their spot. 

They are so far lost in each other, as they make out in the broom closet, that neither Rand nor McNally can help them. 

In her room, she is arranging flowers at the window. Xander opens a can of chopped spinach, pours the juice into a second glass and adds a squeeze of lime. "Who are you? And what did you do before? What did you do and what did you think?" he asks, adding a dash of sea-salt to the concoction. 

"We said no questions," she reprimands him lightly. 

He grins, hands a glass of the green fluid to her, and raises his own, "Here's looking at you, C." 

They drink the juice. "Gah!! Needs more salt!" Her face twists into a rictus of disgust. 

They're in The Bronze, he and Cordelia are dancing, very much in love as the music plays. 

\--- 

On a different day, back in her room, she flips a coin and then tosses it to him, "A franc for your thoughts." 

"Your vacation to the south of France is over, Cordy. We use pennies here, remember? And I guess that's all they're worth." 

"I'm willing to be overcharged. Tell me." 

"I'm wondering..." Xander begins. 

"Yes?" 

"Why I'm so lucky. Why I got trapped in the basement with you, as if you were waiting for me to come along. And then even after I betrayed you, you finally forgave me and took me back. Why—" 

"Why there is no other man in my life?" 

"Uh huh. I mean, you were pretty much a tramp. You'd go with any guy who had a buck to his name. And, ewww, Wesley?" 

"That's easy. There _was_ another. He's...gone," she says as a stricken expression overcomes her. 

Xander is contrite. "I'm sorry for asking. I forgot we said no questions." 

"Well, only one answer can take care of all our questions." And they begin to kiss passionately, the Spinach-Lime Juice Squeeze forgotten. 

\--- 

It's daytime at the Espresso Pump, Xander and Cordelia are reading the future through a looking glass. No one knows what's to come, but they are frightened. 

"Nothing can stop him now," says Xander. "The Mayor will be upon us, And then, in something totally unrelated, three years—four at the most—the First will be in Sunnydale, and it'll all go ka-blooey! Or maybe ker-plop. Or maybe kur-blammo, or possibly a ka-chunk. This looking glass is really not clear on the sound effect that ME will be able to afford by then." 

"Xander, they'll find out your as-yet unknown ability to see. It won't be safe for you here!" 

"I'm on their blacklist already, their role of honor," he answers in bemused confidence. 

\--- 

Later that evening, the night before Graduation, back at The Bronze, Xander steals some glasses from behind the bar and brings them over to Cordelia and Giles. Cordelia is unnerved, there's something on her mind. Xander is wry, but not cynical like he is in Africa. He pours for them. 

"The bartender wants us to finish this bottle of Coke," Xander says wryly, "and then three more. He says he'll water his garden with Coca-Cola before he serves any to the Mayor and his minions." 

"This sort of takes the sting out of being eaten by a snake, hey Xander?" comments an uncertain Giles, not really sure why he's in this flashback. 

"You said it! Here's looking at you, C!" 

Cordelia is falling apart, "With the whole world crumbling, we pick this time to fall in love." 

"Yeah, pretty bad timing. Just when you've forgiven me and taken me back!. Where were you, say...ten years ago?" 

"Ten years? Daddy was showing me brochures on all the latest BMW models. He said I should already know what option packages I want when I turned sixteen. And you?" 

"Running from the clown at my birthday party." Xander cringes at the memory. 

Cordelia looks at him tenderly. They fall into each other's arms and kiss passionately, tongues battling for gold in Greco-Roman wrestling. Giles is busy polishing his glasses, shoes, cuff-links, tie pin, anything to keep his eyes off the young couple with their disgusting PDA. 

Echoing booms suddenly rattle the rafters as they continue groping each other. She turns away, fearfully looking at the front entrance to The Bronze. 

"Is that cannon-fire, or my heart pounding?" 

Xander listens for a few more seconds. "Ah, I think that's the sound of the Mayor passing gas after eating those spider things. Fiber will do that to you. And from the sound of it, it looks like he ate a bushel full!" He chuckles as he picks up her glass of Coke. "Here, drink up. We'll never finish three before we have to fight him at the graduation ceremony." 

Cordelia reacts badly. "The Mayor's minions will be here pretty soon! And they'll come looking for you, Key Soldier Guy! There's a price on your head." 

"Don't worry. They'll know where to find me." 

"Strange. Sometimes it seems I know so very little about you." 

"And I know very little about you. Just that you were already a snobbish prissy and greedy <insert your favorite 5-letter word here> by the time you were eight. And that those bad-girls," he glances down, "are real!" 

"Be serious! You're in danger, and you must leave Sunnydale!" 

"No, no, no, no. Screw my road-trip! We must leave Sunnydale!" 

"Yes, of course, we—" 

"The bus for Santa Barbara leaves at eight o'clock, right after the ceremony. I'll come by your apartment at seven-thirty." 

She turns from him, unable to look him in the eye. "No! no, not my pathetic excuse for a home! I have things to do before I leave. I'll meet you at the station?" 

"All right, at a quarter to eight." He gets a devilish gleam in his eye, "Say, why don't we get married in Santa Barbara?" He chuckles again. 

"That's too far ahead to plan," she replies evasively. 

He assumes a slightly downcast expression, "Yes, I guess that is a little too far ahead. Well, let's see..." His face lights up, "What about the bus driver? Why can't he marry us?" 

She is in torment. "Oh, my gorgeous lame-o!" Suddenly she turns even further and starts to cry. He's still giggling at his bus driver idea and doesn't see her crying at first. 

"Well, why not? The captain on a ship can. I doesn't seem fair that...Hey, hey, what's wrong, C?" Xander gently asks Cordelia, taking her in his arms. 

She leans her head against his shoulder. "I love you so-o-o much! And I hate this constant fight against evil so much. Oh, it's a bizarro world and anything can happen." She pulls back a bit and looks up at him earnestly. "If you shouldn't get away, I mean if-if-if something should keep us apart, wherever they put you and wherever I'll be, I want you to know..." She falters, unable to go on. He pulls her in and kisses her gently on the forehead. 

She is breathless. "Kiss me, Xander. Kiss me as if it were the last time." 

He looks into her eyes and kisses her as if it were the last time. 

\--- 

The next day and they have defeated the Mayor! 

At the Sunnydale bus station Xander is ready to leave with Cordelia, but she is no where in sight. As a result of strange weather brought on by the unexpected eclipse it is raining very hard. The station is filled with frantic crowds who are still scared by the events earlier that day, and those unable to put up with the stench from the even earlier spider-eating incident. This will be the last bus out until the next day. Xander puts his backpack down and looks at his watch. The driver calls out, "All aboard! Last bus, leaving in 3 minutes." 

Xander is getting soaked but doesn't seem to notice as he nervously checks his watch again. Suddenly Giles appears. "Where is she? Have you seen her? And why are you coming with me? Remember, this is only a PG-13 fic, and no kinkiness will be tolerated! Now, if Jenny would get better and wanted to come along instead of you, well then maybe we could talk." 

"Shut up, you prat! I've been fired, y'know, and I've always wanted to see Santa Barbara. And, no I didn't see her. She left her apartment, but this note came just after you left," Giles informs Xander as he holds out an envelope. 

Xander grabs it from Giles, tears it open and reads. 

_Xander, I cannot go with you, or ever see you again.  
I must go to LA. Do not ask why. Just believe that I  
love you. Go, my darling lameness, and may your days  
be filled with Twinkies.  
_

_C_

_  
_

The rain pours down, the drops smudging the letter. The bus's horn blows. 

Giles looks at Xander in worry. "That's the last call, Xander. Do you hear me? Come on Xander, let's get you out of here. Come on, come on." Giles pushes a stunned and expressionless Xander aboard just as the bus starts to move. Xander stares back from the steps, then crumbles the letter and tosses it down. 

.  
.  
.  


The memories are so painful! 

He thought they'd worked things out. He'd thought they could begin a normal life together after high school. But such was not to be. Instead, he came back a few weeks later to begin his big road trip. He needed to get away from all the places that reminded him of her. He eventually returned to Sunnydale to endure four long years; four years knowing that she went to LA without him, that she joined Angel and his gang of groupies. 

Xander reaches for the glass on the table, his head down. He reaches for it and knocks it over. He is on an extreme sugar and caffeine high from a new concoction he's trying out, a Mango-Choco-Java-Brown- Sugar-and-Molasses-Mind-Bender. 

She appears at the doorway. 

Xander merely stares, bug-eyed, as she comes over. 

"Xander, I have to talk to you." She is uncertain but determined. 

"Oh, I saved my first drink to have with you, Here." 

"No. No, Xander. Not tonight." 

"Especially tonight!" Xander yells. 

She sits and looks into his impassive, expressionless, stoical face, one that he's been working on from an on-line course offered at Oz's new eUniversity. Then he pours himself another draft from the steel cannister. 

"Please," she begs. 

"Why did you have to come to Casablanca?! There are other places," he wails and bemoans. 

"I wouldn't have come if I'd known you were here. Believe me, Xander it's true. I didn't know!" 

"It's funny about your voice. How it didn't change. I can still hear it. 'Xander, dear, I'll go with you any place. We'll get on a bus and never stop.'" 

Her eyes are downcast. "Please don't. Don't, Xander. I can understand how your feel." 

"Huh? You understand how I feel? How long was it we had, baby?" Xander is now getting very angry, unable to maintain the First Position of the 'Oz Face' repertoire. 

She can't meet his stare. "I didn't count the days." 

"Well I did! Every one of them. Mostly I remember the last one. A wow finish! A dork standing in a bus station with a corked look on his face, because his porked insides had been forked out." 

He takes a big gulp, the sugar and caffeine making his body vibrate in the key of C#. 

"Can I tell you a story, Xander?" 

"Has it got a 'Wow' finish?" 

"I don't know the finish yet." 

"Well, go on, maybe one will come to you as you go along." 

"It's about a snobby bit-cah who grew up in Sunnydale. At a party at a friend's house she meets someone. Someone who was even more of a pathetic loser than you, but had the potential to be a very great and courageous champion. He opened up for her a whole world of thoughts and ideas, new concepts in hair and hair products. She looked up to him and worshiped him with a feeling she supposed was love. And also, my Dad must have known about his own impending financial situation and was trying to unload me on anyone who would take me." 

"Yes, that's very pretty. I heard a story once. In fact, I've heard a lot of stories in my time. They went along with the sound of an electric organ playing a rocking cover of 'Ave Maria' in a funeral home. 'Mister, I met someone once when I was a kid,' it always begins. Huh. I guess neither one of our stories was very funny. Tell me, who was it you left me for? Was it Angel, or Doyle, or were there others in between? Or aren't you the kind who tells?" 

Disgusted, Cordelia gets up and leaves in a swirl. Even more disgusted with himself, Xander slumps head first onto the table. 


	7. Tomorrow is Another Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein it is revealed the author can not count to 10.

**Part 6:** Tomorrow is Another Day 

The morning of the next day, in Captain William's office, Buffy sits while Spike attends to paperwork, whistling Dixie. 

"I strongly suspect that Doyle left the talismans of transit with Mr. Harris. I would suggest you search the juice bar immediately and thoroughly." 

"If Alex 'as ze talismans, 'ee's much too smart to let you find zem zere," Spike replies easily without looking up. 

Buffy, annoyed at his casual and cavalier attitude, snaps out, "You give him credit for too much cleverness. Let me refresh your memory. He's The Zeppo, the 'whelp' you used to call him. And my impression is that he hasn't changed. He's just another blundering ordinary guy." 

"But we mustn't underestimate ordinary blundering. You've told me I was with 'im when 'ee 'blundered' into ze wine cellar and saved Kennedy's ass, at great sacrifice to 'imself. 'Ee 'blundered' onto ze cliff and prevented one of our extras from vaporizing ze world. Years before zat 'ee 'blundered' into ze Master's cave and saved your life." 

Ignoring this, Buffy continues, "As to Angel, we want him watched 24 hours a day." 

Spike sets down his pencil and leans back smugly. "It may interest you to know zat at zis moment 'ee is on 'is way 'ere." 

\--- 

In the lobby, Angel and Cordelia push through the crowd, too preoccupied to see Gunn and Fred in the crowd. 

Gunn is talking to an officer. Willow sighs, "There's nothing we can do," she says, then angrily adds, "And why should I bother helping you when I can't even help myself out of this insanity?" Her meeting with the FCG rep just can't come too soon! 

Angel and Cordelia finally work their way through and enter Spike's office, who stands and bows as they come in. "I am delighted to see you both. Did you 'ave a good night's rest?" he greets with false good cheer. 

"I slept very well," Angel informs him. "May we proceed with the business?" he impatiently demands. 

"With pleasure. Will you sit down?" Spike, despite his lack of memory of Angel and their antagonistic relationship, still revels in irritating him. 

"Thank you." Angel pauses when he spots Buffy sitting in the office. 

Buffy now speaks up. "Very well, Angel, we will not mince words like those insufferable vegetable choppers on late night infomercials for only $19.95, that's right just $19.95! You are a danger to my Slayer Army, with your constant namby-pamby do-gooder attitude, saving demons you think are nice guys, and hoarding all the better hair products to yourself. So far you have been fortunate enough in eluding us. You have reached Casablanca. It is my duty to see that you stay in Casablanca." 

"Whether or not you succeed, is of course, problematical," smirks Angel after finally taking his seat. 

Buffy remains smug. "Not at all. A drop of Captain William's blood is required on every exit talisman." She turns to Spike. "Is it possible that you think Angel will receive said necessary drop?" 

This time in genuine cheer Spike speaks directly to Angel, "I am afraid not. My regrets, Angel. And my apologies again for zis 'orrible French accent." 

Angel appears confident and unfazed. "Well perhaps I shall like it in Casablanca." 

Buffy pours salt on the wound. "And Cordelia? There's not a mall to speak of within hundreds of miles of here." 

Cordelia airily answers, "You needn't be concerned about me. I've put up with the worst hardships imaginable. I've even been boinked by Angel's son, so I'm sure I can deal with the lack of an indoor shopping mall. At least for awhile." 

"Is that all you wish to tell us?" asked Angel. 

"Don't be in such a hurry. You have all the time in the world. You may be in Casablanca indefinitely. Or you may leave for Lisbon tomorrow - on one condition..." 

Angel sits up, interested despite his better judgment. "And that is?" 

"You know the leaders of the anti-Slayer Army movement, in Vienna, in Brussels, in Milano, in Sausalito, in Verano, in fact in _any_ city named after a Pepperidge Farm cookie. 

"Even in London, right where your precious Council boot-licker's are," Angel smirks. 

"Yes, even London. If you will furnish me with their names and their exact whereabouts you will have your talisman in the morning." 

"And the honor of having served the Slayer Army," Angel replies with some irony. "I was in a hell dimension for a hundred years. You put me there. That's honor enough for a lifetime, even one as long as mine." 

"You will give us the names?" asks Buffy. 

"If I can survive in hell, put up with my twerp of a kid for a year, heck, even put up with your whinging, then I certainly won't give them to you now!" 

Angel stands and looks solemnly up at nothing. His voice becomes that of the passionate true crusader champion he is, filled with a deep projecting timbre, resonating off the office walls, echoing through the hallways, reverberating down the streets, booming across the whole city of Casablanca. "And if you track down my allies and kill them? What if you slayed all of us? From every corner of Europe, hundreds, thousands, would rise to take our place. Even slayers can't dust that fast." He sits again as the applause throughout the city finally dies down. 

Buffy leans over to Spike and whispers. "He's good!" she whispers. 

Then she straightens herself up and fastens a scowl back on her face. "Angel, you have a new-found reputation for eloquence that I can now understand. But in one respect you are mistaken. You said the enemies of the Slayer Army could all be replaced. But there is one exception." She looks straight as a crossbow bolt at him, "No one could take _your_ place in the event anything unfortunate should happen while you were trying to escape." 

"You won't dare to interfere with me here! This is still unoccupied territory. Any violation of neutrality would reflect on Captain Perox—err, William, here." 

"Angel, insofar as it is in my power—" 

"Thank you," Angel says, cutting him off. 

"By ze way, Angel, last night you were interested in Signor Doyle." 

"Yes," Angel answered, squinting in suspicion. 

"I believe you 'ave a message for 'im." 

"Oh, nothing important, but may I speak to him now?" 

"You would find ze conversation a bit one-sided. Signor Doyle is in a coma." 

"Oh really?" a stunned Angel asked, hiding it well. 

"I am afraid so. Even an Irish 'alf-demon 'as only so much luck." 

Cordelia throws her hands up in frustration. "Now everybody's copying me! Why can't people get their own damn cheap plot devices!" 

Angel is upset and disappointed and ignores Cordelia's fuming and whining. 

Spike holds up a sheaf of papers. "I am making out ze report now. We 'aven't decided if 'ee 'eld 'is breath too long in an oxygen fast, to protest ze bad beer we serve 'ere. Or if 'ee tripped and conked 'is 'ead while trying to escape." 

Gathering himself together, glaring at Buffy, Angel coldly and formally tries to end this trying meeting. "Are you quite finished with us?" 

Buffy returns his glare. "For the time being." 

"Good day." 

Spike rings a buzzer and the door is opened. Officer Tara comes in after they leave. Spike turns to Buffy, "Undoubtedly, zeir next step will be to ze black market." 

Tara speaks up, "Excuse me, sir. Another talisman problem has come up. And I am so tired of this extra role, can I go back to the bar now?" 

"Show 'er in first, zen you can 'ead on back." Spike leered, as he looks in the mirror and straightens himself. Buffy gets up and leaves with Tara. 

\--- 

Later that day, in a dark cluttered bazaar on a narrow street, covered in sun-blocking tarps (It's not called the 'Black Market' for nothin'!) people are gathered in conspiratorial groups, wearing dark conspiratorial clothes. The tarps trap the heat of the blistering sun. The intense heat causes surface emotions to be languid, while underneath fester the torrid sinister emotions that come of illicit trade in hot dark places. 

In one doorway, a Frenchman and a native Whoduh demon huddle and talk. The Whoduh demon is speaking in an urgent conspiratorial whisper, "I am sorry, Monsieur, we would have to handle the police. This is a job for Faith." 

"Faith? Who dat?" 

"No, no, she's a human, not a Whodat demon! They are riff-raff," retorts the Whoduh, failing to mention the Whosonfirst and Whatsonsecond demons consider the Whoduhs to be riff-raff as well, in the minor leagues of demons. 

"My most profound apologies to your eminent self. I meant, who is this Faith you mention?" 

"Ah, It can be most helpful to know Faith. She was once a member of Buffy's Slayer Army. After The First BaSHinG and BWAHAAHAHA went down she got disgusted with Buffy's pretentious and increasing use of 'Mom' hair and took off on her own. She now has a monopoly on the black market here. You will find her there in the Blue Suede Shoe." The demon points across the way. 

"Thanks." 

Outside the frozen yogurt shop, where the Whoduh demon just pointed, a blue suede shoe hangs from the telephone wires by its laces. Inside, it is much less chic and swank than Al's, but it is as well populated. Xander enters and heads for Faith's office just as she is exiting with a disappointed looking Gunn and Fred. "There, don't be too down-hearted, dawg. Perhaps you can come to terms with Captain W. You guys were pretty cool to me after Wes busted me out, but hey, that's all just bullshit in the meadow. I'm glad to see you both got better, four-by-six-plus-one and all, but I can't really help you." 

Gunn understands. "Hey, it's cool, Faith." He leads Fred away. 

Xander approaches Faith. "Hello, Faith." 

"Hey, mornin', X-alent!" she greets enthusiastically as they shake hands. 

"I see the bus is in. I'll take my shipment with me." 

"No hurry, I'll have it sent over. Have a strawberry frozen yogurt with me." 

"I never eat yogurt in the morning. And every time you send my shipment over it's always a little bit short." 

Faith chuckles, "Carrying charges, X-ercise, carrying charges. Come on, sit down, there's something I want to talk over with you anyhow." She calls to a waiter, "A strawberry shortcake, with extra fudge on top!" She swivels back to Xander. "The news about D-Day upset me very much. I never knew the little creep, but yet I'm still upset." 

"You're a thin, yet bodaciously hot and svelte hypocrite. You don't feel any sorrier about Doyle than I do." 

"'Course not. What upsets me is that D is in a coma and no one knows where those talismans of transit are." 

"Practically no one," Xander replies in a toneless voice that gives everything away. 

"If I could get my mitts on those talismans I could sure make a crap-load of money, X-ertion." 

"So could I, and I'm a poor businessman." 

"I have a small proposition for whoever has those talismans. I will handle the transaction, take all the risk, get rid of the talismans. For a small percentage." 

Xander is mildly amused. "And the carrying charges, Faith?" 

"Naturally there will be a few incidental expenses. That is the proposition I have for whoever has those talismans." 

Xander replies dryly, "I'll tell him when he comes in." 

"X-ample, I'll put my cards on the table. I think you know where those talismans are." 

Xander chuckles. "Well, you're in good company. Spike and Buffy think so too." He turns his head to look out the window and spots Cordelia in the market. He also sees Angel carefully crossing under the tarps, heading for the entrance to The Shoe. "That's why I came over here, to give them a chance to ransack my place." 

"Don't be a fool! Take me into your confidence, you need a partner. We can even make the beast with two backs again—and this time I promise not to try and kill you." 

Xander isn't listening, he's still looking out at the bazaar and gets up unexpectedly. "Excuse me, I'll be getting back." Faith sighs as she notes who Xander saw out the window. 

Angel runs into Xander as he's coming out. They regard each other politely. 

"Good morning, Xander." 

"In case your memory is screwed up, Faith is the hottie at the table." 

Angel merely looks after him with a puzzled expression. 

\--- 

In the market at a stall, Cordelia is examining a tablecloth. Willie is behind the stall, whiny and obsequious as ever. "You will not find a treasure like this in all Morocco, dollface, Only 700 francs!" 

Xander walks up behind Cordelia. "You're being cheated," he announces his presence. 

Startled, Cordelia turns in surprise to look at Xander, and then more slowly turns back. Her manner is polite but distant and formal. "It doesn't matter, thank you." 

"Ah, the lady is a friend of Alex. For friends of Alex we have a special discount. Did I say 700 francs? It's only 200 francs!" 

Xander breaks into Willie's stream of words, "I'm sorry I was in no condition to receive you when you called on me last night." 

"It doesn't matter," is all Cordelia says, still looking over the various items in Willie's stall. 

"For special friends of Alex we have a special discount. Only 100 francs!" 

Xander ignores Willie as he presses on. "Your story had me a little confused. Or maybe it was the weird drink I was having. Even I have my limits on how much sugar I can tolerate." 

"I have some really nice napkins," Willie whines, sensing he's going to lose his customer. 

"Thank you, I'm really not interested." It's not clear whether she is talking to Xander or Willie. 

"Please, one minute, wait!" cries Willie, as Xander and Cordelia begin to slowly walk away. 

"Why did you come back? To tell me why you ran out on me at the bus station?" 

"Yes." She remains polite, but won't look at him while they talk. 

"Well, you can tell me now. I'm reasonably calm. Only one Twinkie so far today." He smiles in apology, but it's not working. 

"I don't think I will, Xander." 

Xander attempts to maintain his good mood despite lack of any encouragement from Cordelia. "Why not? After all, I got stuck with a bus ticket. I think I'm entitled to know." 

This time she turns to face him, locking her gaze onto his eye. "Last night I saw what happened to you. The Xander I knew in Sunnydale, I could tell him. He'd understand. But the one who looked at me with such hatred...well, I'll be leaving Casablanca soon and we'll never see each other again. We really knew very little about each other when we were in love in Sunnydale. If we leave it that way maybe we'll remember the better part of those days, and not Casablanca. Not last night." 

His good cheer evaporates. "Did you run out on me because you couldn't take it?" he demands. "Because you knew what it would be like, hiding from the demons, hiding me from your friends and the fashion police?" 

"You can believe that if you want," she answers tiredly as she resumes her slow walk toward the Blue Suede Shoe. 

He stays standing. "Well, I'm not running away anymore. I'm settled now—above a juice bar, yeah, but...come on up. I'll be expecting you." As Cordelia continues to leave he calls out, "All the same, someday you'll lie to Angel. You'll be there." 

This causes her to stop and look back at Xander. 

"No, Xander. No. You see, I'm Angel's special extra-sensory energy receiver." 

Xander is confused as he ponders this new term. "You mean...you're his, his... maid?" 

"No! That's not what I mean." 

His brow furrowed in confused concentration, he tries again. "His answering service?" 

"No, spinach-for-brains," she cracks. 

"You pay his power bills?" timidly this time, head down, eyes looking up at her. 

"I'm his _SEER_ You moron! 'S' - 'E' - 'E' - 'R'. The visions, they're special and extra-sensory, and I receive them. Get it? I'm his vision girl. And he's my champion. It's all clearly laid out in the Phlimphlam Prophecy. We were destined for each other." 

Xander feints dead away as Cordelia stalks off and into the Blue Suede Shoe. 

Cordelia spots Angel talking to Faith and moves over to their table. She sits down next to Angel, with Faith opposite. 

"Hey C! I was just telling our boy here, A-man—although I guess he's not really a man is he?—that unfortunately, I am not able to help him." 

"Oh," Cordelia says in dejection. 

Angel begins to explain to Cordelia, "You see, Cordy, the word has gone around..." 

Faith picks up the explanation at that point, "As leader of all fun and illegal activities in Casablanca, I am an influential and respected chick around here. It would not be worth my life to do anything for Angel. You, however, are a different matter." 

"Cordy, Faith thinks it might just be possible to get an exit talisman just for you." Angel is earnest as he tries to convince Cordelia. 

"You mean for me to go on alone?" she asks incredulously. 

"And only alone," clarifies Faith. 

"I'll stay here and keep on trying. I'm sure in a little while—" 

"We might as well be frank, A-vamp. It will take a miracle to get you out of Casablanca," cut in Faith. "And the Slayers have outlawed miracles. They had W, before she joined X, perform an anti-miracle spell on all of Africa." 

"We are only interested in two, Faith," Cordelia primly informs Faith. 

Angel tries to argue with Cordelia, "Please, Cordelia, don't be hasty." 

"No, Angel, no!" 

Faith smirks. "You two will want to discuss this. Excuse me, I will be at the yogurt machine." Faith leaves as the two continue to argue. 

"No, Cordelia. I won't let you stay here. You must get back to America. And believe me somehow I will get out and join you." 

"But Angel, if the situation were different, if I had to stay and there were only a talisman for one, would you take it?" 

"Yes, I would," Angel says firmly. 

Cordelia smiles, she doesn't believe it for a moment. "Yes, I see. When I had gotten knocked up by that photographer, why didn't you leave me then? And when I was stuck in the bad old Pylea you came after me, and you were in danger every second, why didn't you leave me then? And even after that thing with Conner, you still took me back." 

"I meant to, but something always held me up. I love you very much." 

"Your secret will be safe with me." She glanced over at Faith, "Faith is waiting for an answer." 

At the machine, Faith is talking to the waiter, "Not more than fifty francs, Willow." 

"Can I just say how much this sucks! I had almost top billing! Top billing, I tell you!! And now I'm forced into this thankless extras part! By the goddess Hecate I will exact my revenge someday!" Willow huffs off angrily as Angel and Cordelia approach Faith. 

"We've decided," Angel announces to Faith, "For the present we will go on looking for two exit talismans. Thank you very much." 

"Well good luck, A-dude. But be careful." She flicks her eyes in the direction of the bazaar outside. "You know you're being shadowed?" 

"Well, duh, he needs those so he can walk around without turning into a crispy critter," sneers Cordelia. 

Angel tries to calm her down, "Of course. It becomes an instinct." 

Faith looks sideways at Cordelia while addressing Angel. "I observe that you in one respect are a very fortunate vampire. I am moved to make one more suggestion, why I do not know, because it cannot possibly profit me. Why I'm suddenly talking like Sydney Greenstreet I also do not know, but it seems right. Have you heard about D-livery and the talismans of transit?" 

Angel is suddenly wary at the reference to Doyle. "Yes, something." 

Faith raises an eyebrow as she says, "Those talismans were not found on D-cember when they arrested him." 

Angel lets this sink in before replying. "Do you know where they are?" 

"Not for sure, but I will venture to guess that D-licious left those talismans with the X-tra." 

Angel observes as Cordelia's face darkens. 

"Xander?!" 

"He is a difficult customer these days, our boytoy is. One never knows what he'll do, or why. But it's worth a shot." 

"Thank you very much. Good day. Oh, by the way, do you know where I can get a good wig?" 

"Try the third stall on the left." 

Cordelia also says goodbye. 

Faith turns and swats a fly as they leave. 


	8. Shocked!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everybody sings!

**Part 7:** Shocked! 

Al's is bustling; it's another busy night. Willow is at the bar getting drink fixings for Xander. As Giles plays rocking covers with his guitar, the orchestra backing him, Buffy enters with her posse and passes by Xander's table. 

Willow brings Xander a fresh Brussels sprout and a glass of pear juice. "Xander, you're getting to be your best customer, though considering the stuff you serve here, it's a wonder anybody ever comes back," she snipes before hustling off to contact the Fic Characters Guild shop rep. 

Spike arrives and strolls over to Xander's table. "Well Alex, I am very pleased with you. Now you are beginning to live like a Frenchman, even zough I'm still pretty sure I'm English and shouldn't really know what I'm talking about." 

Xander spares a sardonic glance for Spike. "That was some going over your men gave my place this afternoon. We just barely got cleaned up in time to open." He pours some pear juice for Spike and gives a squeeze of the brussels sprout into the glass. 

Spike snickers at Xander's complaint. "I told Buffy we wouldn't find ze talismans 'ere. But I told my men to be especially destructive. You know 'ow zat impresses ze slayers? And it's just a 'ell of a lot of fun to zrow furniture!" Spike chuckles (but doesn't smile) then gets serious. "Alex. 'ave you got zose talismans of transit?" 

Spike's use of sneaky interrogation tactic number 17 does not fool Xander one bit. "Spike, are you pro-Slayer, or a New England Patriot? 

"Serves me right. Ze subject is closed," Spike admits, sighing in defeat. 

"Well it looks like you are a little late," Xander observes. 

"'Uh?" 

Xander watches as Anya and an unknown slayer approach the bar. "So. Anya has gone over to the enemy," observes Xander, and with a lewd leer adds, "and is swinging for the other team. Ah, the fun we could have had if I'd only known!" 

Spike is also amused. "'Oo knows? In 'er own way she may constitute an entire second front." His amusement vanishes when he notices Buffy at her table. "I zink it's time for me to flatter Buffy a little. I'll see you later, Alex." 

At the bar, Anya and the slayer place their order. "Hey! Andrew, ya' little monkey guy!" 

"French asparagus!" orders the slayer. 

"Wha—" asks Andrew, confused. He's really paying more attention to Anya, who looks like she's had too much oat bran this day. 

Anya is staring goggle-eyed at Andrew, barely able to maintain her seat. "Put up a whole row of them, Andrew. Starting here and ending here." She indicates with her hands where she wants her asparagus, and she giggles. "We'll make a green picket fence!" 

"We will begin with two," orders the slayer. 

A nearby vengeance demon makes a remark to Anya in medieval Norwegian "Hey! You are no ex-demon to go with a slayer like this!" 

Anya, responds angrily in medieval Norwegian. "What are you butting in for?" 

"I'm butting in—" 

"It's none of your business!" shouts Anya. 

The slayer, who actually was Norwegian by a strange twist of fate, but did not really know medieval Norwegian, tries to break in, "What did you say? Would you repeat it?" 

The demon spares a withering glance at the intrusive slayer. "What I said is none of your business!" 

"I make it my business!" the slayer responds, getting her dandruff up, creating a snow-globe effect all around the bar. 

Anya yells at them both, "Stop! I beg you, stop!" 

Slayers at another table rise to step into the developing commotion as Xander comes up and separates the two. "I don't like disturbances in my place. Either lay off the asparagus or get out! And you, go take a shower!" 

The vengeance demon is still furious. "Dirty slayer! Someday we'll have our vengeance! It's what we do best!" 

Buffy has been observing the incident from her table. She leans over to Spike and says, "You see, Captain William. The situation is not as under control as you think." 

"My dear Buffy, we are trying to cooperate with your army, but we cannot regulate ze feelings of ze people and ze demons." 

"Captain, are you entirely certain which side you're on?" Buffy asks, looking him straight in the eyes. 

Spike is unfazed by Buffy's glare. "I 'ave no conviction. I blow with ze wind. You might say I am Gone With Ze Wind! And ze prevailing wind 'appens to be from—ACK!" He stops as he gets a whiff of an odorous stench. He looks around. "Tara! Go fart in someone else's general direction! And for God's sake, woman, lay off ze asparagus!" 

Buffy is stoic and ignores the breeze. "And if it should change?" 

Waving his cap about to clear the air, Spike responds, "Surely ze Slayer Army doesn't admit zat possibility?" 

"We are concerned with more than about Casablanca. We know that Africa is honeycombed with traitors, waiting for their chance, waiting perhaps for a leader." 

"A leader? Like Angel?" asks Spike. 

"Uh huh. I have been thinking." 

"Whoa, zere's a new one," mutters Spike. 

"What?!" 

"Never mind. Please, do go on," says Spike, sparing her the sardonic glance he borrowed from Xander. 

Buffy continues. "It is too dangerous to let him go. It may be too dangerous to let him stay." 

"I see what you mean," Spike said thoughtfully. "Excuse me, please." Spike gets up, nods his goodbye to Buffy, and heads for the game room for another try at Donkey-Kong. 

Fred bumps into him as she leaves the game room. "'Ow's ze barrel zrowing gorilla treating you?" he asks her. Fred's glum look tells him everything he wants to know. "Aw, too bad. You'll find 'im over zere," he tells her, pointing to Xander, who has by now returned to his table. 

Fred nods silently and goes over to his table. "Mr. Alex?" 

"Yes?" 

"Could I speak to you for just a moment, please?" She is nervous, wringing her hands endlessly. 

"How did you get in here? You're underage. Or at least you look it." 

"I came with Captain William." 

"I should have known." Xander shakes his head. 

"Gunn, my well-hung boyfriend, is with me too." 

"He is? Well Spike is getting broad-minded, but I always suspected that about him. Sit down. Will you have a drink?" 

She shakes her head 

"No, of course not. Do you mind if I do?" 

"No." Fred is still wringing her hands. "Mr. Alex, what kind of man is Captain William?" 

"Oh, he's not really a 'man', or at least he didn't used to be, I guess nowadays he's just like any other, only more so. Or less so, depending on your point of view." 

"No. I mean, is he trustworthy? Is his word any—" 

"Now just a minute!" Xander sharply interrupts her, "Who told you to ask me that?" 

"He did." 

"Hmmm, thought so. Where's Gunn?" 

"At the Pac-Man table, trying to win enough reward points to trade in for our exit talisman. Of course, he's losing. I love him dearly, but the fool just didn't learn from the last time he gambled his soul away." 

"How long have you been married?" 

"Eight weeks. We died, and then we both joined this group thing, y'know? There was this discount, see? And we got better. But in Bulgaria! Oh things are very bad there, Mr. Alex. Gunn didn't like it one bit, y'know 'cause there were no brothers, or 'hoods, or dogs, or homeboys or whatever else he calls them. So Gunn and I, we do not want our children to grow up in such a place." 

Xander suddenly feels weary. "So you decided to go back to America." 

"Yes! But we hardly have any money, even after the discount. And traveling is so expensive and difficult! It was much more than we thought to get here. And then Captain William sees us and he's so kind. He wants to help us." 

"Yes, I'll just bet. I'll bet he had a regular menagerie in mind." 

"He tells us he can get us an exit talisman, but we have no points or cheap plastic toys." 

"Does he know that?" 

"Oh, yes!" 

"And he is still willing to give you a talisman? Yup, he most definitely has a threesome in mind!" 

"Yes Mr. Alex." Fred's face is downcast. 

"And you want to know..." 

"Will he keep his word?" 

Xander then delivers the diamond hard, sharp edged yet blunt and bloody brutal truth of life in Casablanca. "He always has." 

Fred is rightfully disturbed, for she comes from the Bible Belt, and such things are just wrong! "Oh, Mister Alex, you are a man. If someone loved you very much, so that your happiness was the only thing she wanted in the whole world, but she did a bad thing to make certain of it, could you forgive her?" 

Xander stares off into the distance with a wistful, almost lonely, expression. "Nobody ever loved me that much," he quietly whispers. 

"...And he never knew what he was about to get into—whoa, bad choice of words!—and the girl kept this bad thing from him until he couldn't back out? That would be alright, wouldn't it?" 

Xander's thoughts return to the here and now, his reply harsh, sharp, and rough. "You want my advice?" 

"Oh, yes, please!" 

"Go back to Bulgaria." 

"Oh, but if you know what it means to us to leave Europe, to get to America! Oh, but if Gunn should back out!" 

"Yes, well everybody in Casablanca has problems. Yours may work out." This last remark is said with a modicum of sympathy. "You'll excuse me." Xander stands abruptly and walks away. 

Fred speaks tonelessly to his retreating back, "Thank you, Mr. Alex." She is too demoralized to move. 

Xander checks the reservation list as Cordelia and Angel walk in. Giles is now playing a rocking cover of "California Girls". The total lack of irony is killing Xander. However he is reasonably gracious as he greets them. "Good evening." 

"Good evening," answers Angel. "You see, here we are again. Do you like my new rug?" Angel asks, pirouetting on his toe to show off his new Bob Marley dreads. 

"It's...it's...something. Yeah, really...something." Xander rolls his eyes at Cordelia. She returns a small nod and a don't-blame-me look. 

"Could we have a table close to Giles?" asks Cordelia. 

"I take that as a great compliment to Giles. I suppose he reminds you of Sunnydale and of, well, happier days." 

"And as far away from Buffy as possible," demands Angel. 

Xander snaps his fingers. "Tara! Table thirty." 

"Yes sir. Please, right this way." She begins to lead them into the room. 

"I'll have Giles play 'Brown Eyed Girl', I believe that's your favorite tune," comments Xander in an aside to Cordelia. 

"Not really, but thank you." She smiles. 

Xander goes over to Giles and whispers in his ear. He begins to play his rocking cover of "Brown Eyed Girl" and Lorne comes bounding in from off-stage to belt out the words. 

"Two Turnip and Raspberry-Radish Rockers, please," Angel orders before Tara leaves the table. 

\--- 

In the game room, Gunn sits at the Pac-Man table. He has only a few game tokens left and looks bewildered and confused. Maybe even bothered a bit. But probably not bewitched, at least if your following the Las Vegas line on the action. As Xander comes up behind Gunn, Jonathan the game overseer, speaks to Gunn, "Do you wish to try another game, sir?" 

Gunn is dejected, defeated, as he mumbles, "No. No, I guess not." All the Gilbert and Sullivan he's got crammed in his head just doesn't help out with working the joystick. 

Xander stands behind him. "Have you tried to catch 'Clyde' when you're in the lower right corner?" Gunn looks at Xander, who slowly nods his head back at him, then back down. Gunn puts his tokens into the slot to begin again. 

Xander and Jonathan exchange a glance. Xander quirks his eyebrow, "You too, huh?" 

"Yeah," Jonathan whines back. But even though he's only been on the job for a few minutes he knows the score and he understands exactly what to do. Willow is watching, fascinated, now that the FCG shop rep, a woman, has calmed her down. 

Gunn plays, wrenching the joy-stick practically out of its socket as he chases down the little orange "Clyde" ghost. He nails it in the lower right corner and suddenly all the other ghosts slow down for as long as it takes to clear the screen. This continues for several screens before it finally stops working. Gunn has racked up the high score for the day, and the machine spits out winning tickets worth thousands of points. Jonathan gives over the pile of tickets to Gunn. 

Spike, nearby, takes notice of the going's on at the Pac-Man table. 

"Play it again, Sam," commands Xander. "Sorry. Gunn, I mean. Play it again, Gunn." 

Gunn does and wins again. He gets an even bigger pile of tickets. 

Xander looks him straight in the eye. "Cash it in. Get the extra-large Barrel of Monkeys set. And don't ever come back." 

After a stunned Gunn leaves, a customer complains to Willow. "Say, are you sure this place is honest?" 

"Honest! As honest as the day is long!" That shop forewoman is MUCH better than Kennedy or Tara ever were, down where it counts. She really is in a much better mood! 

"How we doing tonight?" Xander asks Jonathan. 

"Well, a couple of thousand tickets less than I thought there would be." 

Xander spares him a small smile and heads for the door. Fred runs up and hugs him 

"Mister Alex! I—" 

"Gunn, he's just a lucky guy." Fred skips away, as happy as a clam on 'ludes, looking around to find Captain William. 

Willow is impressed by Xander's new-found generosity. "Xander, can I get you a cup of Peppercorn-Pumpkin Punch?" 

"No thanks, Will." 

Spike, having observed everything, gets up from his Donkey-Kong game to follow Xander. Gunn and Fred see him and go to intercept him. 

"Captain William, may I—" starts Gunn. 

"Oh, not 'ere, please!" Spike's head swivels rapidly to make sure no-one is paying attention. "Come to my office in ze morning. We'll do everything business like." 

"We'll be there at six!" Gunn exults. 

"I'll be zere at ten," smirks Spike. "I am very 'appy for both of you. Still, it's very strange zat you won." He looks over and sees Xander finishing his conversation with Willow, "Well, maybe not so strange. I'll see you in ze morning. And no 'anky-panky, I promise." 

Fred is joyous. "Thank you so much, Captain William," she cries. 

\--- 

In the main room, Willow is whispering to Andrew. "No!" exclaims Andrew. Willow nods her head. Andrew runs to Xander. "Xander! You've done a beautiful thing! Truly beautiful!" 

"Go away, you crazy dweeb!" 

Willow pours a Potato-Prune Peeler for Xander, even though he said he didn't want anything to drink. While Willow is doing that, Xander steals a looks at Cordelia just as Spike comes up to him. 

"As I suspected. You're a rank sap!" Spike informs him. 

"Yeah? Why?" demands Xander, turning to face his accuser, sparing him a withering one-eyed evil glare. 

"Why do you interfere with my dirty little trysts, I've been trying to get into 'er pants for weeks now. And Gunn along would have been...well, 'ow shall I say this?" 

"Just don't!" Xander pleads. "Put it down as a gesture to love. You'll have to spank the monkey on your own tonight." 

"Well, I forgive you zis time. But I'll be in tomorrow night with a breathtaking blond, and it will make me very 'appy if she, or 'ee, loses. Oy!" He smirks and saunters away. 

After he is gone for some moments, Angel approaches Xander. "Xander, I wonder if I could talk to you?" 

"Go ahead," Xander is barely able to contain his giggles as Angel's dreadlocks flap about. 

"Well, isn't there some other place? It's rather confidential what I have to say." 

"My office, then." 

"Right." Angel follows Xander as he heads up the stairs and into his office. Xander goes behind his desk and waits for Angel to begin. 

"You must know, it's very important I get out of Casablanca. It's my privilege to be one of the leaders of a great movement. You know what I have been doing. You know what it means to the work, to the lives of thousands and thousands of innocent demons and the people who help them that I be free to reach America and continue my work." 

"I'm not interested in politics, demons, magic, heroism, or any of that Boy Scout crap. The problems of the world are not in my department. I'm a poor and simple juice bar keeper." 

"My friends underground tell me you have quite the record. I already know some of the things you did while I was still in Sunnydale, and I have since heard many of the things after. You saved Spike from suicide when he was still a vampire. You nearly married an ex-demon, later rescuing her from Buffy on at least one occasion." 

"What of it?" 

"Isn't it strange you always happened to be fighting on the side of the demon." 

"Yes, I found that a very painful hobby, too. But then no one ever said I was much of a man. Well, except in the sack." 

Angel stands. "Are you enough of a man to appreciate the offer of a hundred thousand tiddly-winks." 

"I appreciate it, but I don't accept it." 

"I'll raise it to two hundred." 

"Deadboy, my not-friend with the awful rug, you could make it a million, or three. My answer would still be the same." 

"There must be some reason why you won't let me have them." 

"There is. A couple actually. First, I just hate vampires on general principles. I thought I had stated that clearly back in episode one. And I specifically don't like you as I had also clearly stated in episode twelve. And I don't like your wig." Pausing to draw in a deep breath, he finishes. "I also suggest you ask your seer." 

"I beg your pardon?" 

"I said, ask your seer!" 

"My seer?" Angel striking him a puzzled look. Cordelia's visions had been a secret to most people, especially any of the ex-Scoobies. 

"Yes." 

Before Angel can confront him and challenge him about his seer, they hear loud voices singing downstairs. A group of slayers are singing very, very loudly. 

_I am woman, hear me roar  
In numbers too big to ignore ...  
_

Xander and Angel move out of the office and to the balcony above the main room. At the bar, Spike is watching with small interest. Angel is tense. He runs down the stairs, passes the table where Cordelia is sitting, heading straight for the orchestra. The slayers get even louder as they continue. Meanwhile, Anya with her pet slayer, is at the bar staring into her drink. 

Angel speaks to the orchestra. "Play 'O Canada!' Play it!" he commands, as the slayers continue their chorus. 

_I can do anything  
I am strong   
_

The orchestra members look up toward Xander, who nods his head. Angel starts to sing, attempting to drown out the slayers being led by Buffy. 

_**O Canada!  
Our home and native land!   
True patriot love in all thy sons command.   
**_

_I am invincible  
_

_**With glowing hearts we see thee rise,  
The True North strong and free!   
**_

_I am woman!  
_

The slayers, numerous as they are, are soon drowned out by the entire crowd belting out "O Canada" at the tops of their lungs. Buffy and her hangers on finally give up and sit while the other song keeps going. 

_**From far and wide, O Canada,  
we stand on guard for thee!   
**_

Anya jumps up and sings, with tears in her eyes. 

_**God keep our land glorious and free!  
O Canada, we stand on guard for thee!   
**_

Cordelia proudly looks on at Angel as he sings with determination and passion. The entire bar is singing. It is a triumphant moment! 

_**O Canada, we stand on guard for thee!  
**_

The last notes fade away and Anya shouts, "Go Maple-Leafs! Go Oilers!" The crowd cheers as she shouts out each name. Willow, now standing with Tara, leans over and whispers in her ear. "I knew he was a hockey fan, but this is just silly!" 

"Ah, yes. Al's is a silly place," giggles Tara, earning a groan from the beta reader. 

Anya continues to shout out Canadian NHL teams. "Go Canucks! Go Flames, Go Canadiens!" The crowd is getting noisier and rowdier with every cheer, responding lustily. 

"Go Blue Jays!!" yells out Andrew. He is immediately pelted with asparagus spears and peach pits by the rowdy crowd. The crowd remains standing and cheering as some continue to throw kiwi rinds and grapefruit seeds at Andrew. 

Buffy is furious and stomps over to Spike. "You see what I mean!" she screeches. "If Angel's presence in a juice bar can inspire this unfortunate demonstration of hockey solidarity, what more will his presence in Casablanca bring on? I advise this place be shut at once!" 

"But everybody's 'aving such a good time!" Spike answers cheerfully, sparing her a teasing look, giving him twenty points on the previous frame. 

Buffy is not placated. "Yes, much too good a time. The place is to be closed!" 

"But I 'ave no excuse to close it," dodges Spike. 

"Find one!!" 

Gendarme officers, mostly out-of-work NHL players, surround Angel, congratulating him. Spike considers for a moment then blows a loud blast from his whistle. The room goes quiet. Spikes shouts out, "Everybody is to leave 'ere immediately! Zis juice bar is closed till further notice! Clear ze room at once!" 

The crowd becomes restless as waves of anger stir among them. Yet they really have no choice. The patrons soon begin to get up and leave. Xander rushes up to Spike, demanding, "How can you close me up? On what grounds?" 

Spike swivels his head about, as if he's looking for something in the room, refusing to look Xander in the eye. "I am shocked! Shocked! To find zat knock-off video games from China are 'ere!" 

Xander deflates, at a bit of a loss against this ridiculous and obviously trumped-up charge. Jonathan comes from the game room and hands Spike a wad of tickets. "Your winnings, sir." 

Quickly lowering his voice, Spike thanks Jonathan, "Oh, zank you very much." Then he hides the tickets in his pocket and resumes shouting, "Everybody out!" 

Buffy approaches Cordelia. "After this disturbance it is not safe for Angel to stay in Casablanca, I should think." Buffy is smirking a smug smile. 

Cordelia's reply is tepid, carefully unemotional and neutral. "This morning you implied it was not safe for him to leave." 

"That is true, except for one destination, to return to London." 

"London?" 

"Uh huh. Under a safe conduct from me," answers an arrogant Buffy. 

"What value is that? You may recall what Slayer guarantees have been worth in the past." 

"There are only two other alternatives for him." 

"Yeah?" 

"It is possible the local authorities may find a reason to put him in a hell dimension right here." 

Cordelia unsuccessfully hides her shock, managing to stammer out her next question. "And the other alternative?" 

"My dear prissy rich bitch, with the hair of many lengths and colors, perhaps you have already observed that in Casablanca human life is cheap, vampire non-life even cheaper. Good night!" her lips gently curled up in an evil wicked smile. 

Cordelia, though never the fastest in the brain department, understands completely. She ponders the problem as Angel returns to the table. "What happened with Xander? 

His response is short and evasive. "We'll discuss it later." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Canada. I love Canadians.
> 
> But that anthem? Awful.


	9. Plans and Intrigue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Riley makes a cameo.

**Part 8:** Plans and Intrigue 

Later, in their hotel room, Angel turns on the light. Cordelia begins to remove some jewelry. He approaches the window and carefully looks out, seeing a figure standing under an archway down below. Angel closes the drapes. "Our faithful friend is still there," he observes wryly. 

Riley pops his head in. "No, no, that's not me down there you're seeing. I got booted off this story back in Part 2." 

Angel and Cordelia both look annoyed at the intrusion. "Wryly with a 'W' ya dumb hick!" Angel scolds the taller man. 

"Oh. Well, never mind," Riley sheepishly says, before adding, "Nice wig." He ducks away and is never seen again. 

Angel and Cordelia shrug their shoulders before soldiering on. 

"Angel, please, don't go to the underground meeting tonight," pleads Cordelia. 

"I must. Besides, it isn't often a vampire has a chance to display heroics before his seer." 

"Don't joke. You're really bad at it, almost as bad as your singing, and I hate when you come back stinking like crap after your romps through the sewers. After Buffy's warning tonight, I'm frightened." 

"To tell you the truth, I'm a little worried, too. She's got a chip on her shoulder big enough to make an elephant envious. But do I stay here in our room, hiding? Or do I carry on the best I can? 

Suddenly and without warning, "Carry On My Wayward Son" fills the room, shaking the walls and rattling the furniture. The two of them again look annoyed at another silly intrusion, yet resigned at the same time. After a few bars have played a far-away banging is heard, followed by a muffled thump and a sharp yelp as the song abruptly cuts off. 

"Woof! Those late night jam sessions of theirs will be the life of me. Don't they know we're not in Kansas anymore?" Angel peevishly asks. "Oh, where was I?" 

"Whatever I'd say, you'd carry on. Tell me about Xander? What did you find out?" 

"Apparently he has the talismans." 

"Yes?" 

His shoulders slump. "But no intention of selling them. One would think if sentiment wouldn't persuade him, Tiddly-winks would." 

"Did you try Twinkies? Why didn't you try Twinkies?" 

"Wouldn't work. We could never get enough to bribe him. He's already the West African distributor." 

"Oh." Now her shoulders slump as well. Cordelia is uncomfortable, but Angel is too self-absorbed to notice, as she asks her next question. "Did he give you any reason?" 

"He suggested I ask you." 

"Me?" she gasps. 

"Yes. He said 'Ask your seer'. I don't know why he said that. I thought nobody from Sunnydale knew about you." He turns off the light, while she practically falls down on the couch. "Well, our friend will think we've retired by now. I'll be going in a few minutes." 

He leaves the window and sits next to her. A strained silence permeates the room. "Cordelia, I—" 

"Yes?" 

"When I was in the hell dimension, and while I was suffering under Buffy's insanity spell, were you lonely in Sunnydale?" 

Cordelia cannot, will not look at him. "Yes, Angel, I was." 

His voice is quiet and full of sympathy. "I know how it is to be lonely. Is there anything you wish to tell me?" 

"No, Angel, there isn't," she demurs. 

"I love you very much." 

"Yes, yes I know." She turns to face him directly. "Angel, whatever I do, will you believe that I, that—" 

"You don't even have to say it. I'll believe. Goodnight." He kisses her. 

"Goodnight," she murmurs as she watches him start to go. "Angel!" she calls out. She rushes to the door, full of worry and tension. "Be careful." 

"Of course I'll be careful." 

He kisses her on the cheek and leaves. She walks slowly to the window and looks out, watching Angel sneaking down the street. She moves over to the closet and gets a cloak, preparing to leave as well. 

\--- 

In the bar, Xander and Willow are going over the ledger, Willow busy figuring the numbers. After a few moments she looks at Xander. "Well, you're in pretty good shape, Xander." 

"How long can I afford to stay closed?" 

"Two weeks. Maybe three," she answers somberly. 

"Maybe I won't have to. A bribe has worked before. In the meanwhile everybody stays on salary," Xander declares. 

"Oh thank you, Xander! Andrew will be happy to hear it. I owe him a Mr. Potato Head." 

"You finish locking up, will you Wills?" 

"I will," she giggles. "Whoops, sorry, no pun intended! I'm going to a meeting with the—" 

"Don't tell me where you're going!" 

"Alright, I won't." She flashes him a sultry smile. "But you could get a lot of good fantasies out of it..." 

"Goodnight, Will," Xander says firmly. 

"G'night, Xander," she answers, her smile turning soft and caring. 

Xander trudges up the stairs to his apartment above the juice bar and enters the dark room. Light from the open door reveals a figure by the window. He flicks the light switch and sees that it's Cordelia. Xander is plainly astonished. For a few moments he is speechless. 

"How did you get in?" he finally asks quietly. 

"The stairs from the street, duh!" Cordelia answers, then walks across the room to come face to face with him. 

"I told you this morning you'd come, but this is a little ahead of schedule. Have a seat? Your unexpected visit is connected by any chance with the talismans of transit? It seems as long as I have those things I'll never be lonely." 

There is desperation in her voice when she speaks. "You can ask any price you want, but you must give me those talismans." 

Xander's tone quickly changes from amusement to anger. "I went through all that with your precious Angel! It's no deal." He makes a cutting motion with his hand. 

"I know how you feel about me. But I'm asking you to put those feelings aside for something more important." 

"Do I have to hear again what a great champion he is? What an important cause he's fighting for?" 

"It was your cause too. In your own way, you were fighting for the same things, too." She flashes her million-watt smile at him, caresses his arm. 

"Your womanly wiles won't work on me anymore, Cordy. I'm not seventeen." She pulls back, trying to mask the hurt she's feeling, as Xander continues. "I'm not fighting for anything anymore, except myself. I'm the only cause I'm interested in." 

He stomps over to the window, Cordelia follows. "Xander, Xander, we loved each other once. If those days meant anything at all to you—" 

Xander harshly cuts her off, "I wouldn't bring up Sunnydale if I were you." 

"Please! Please, listen to me! If you knew what really happened, if you only knew the truth—" 

"I wouldn't believe you, no matter what you told me. You'd say anything now to get what you want." He goes to a table to open a Twinkie box, but it's empty. He groans, disappointed, because he could really use the sugar and other chemicals. 

Now it's Cordelia's turn to be angry. "You want to feel sorry for yourself, don't you? With so much at stake, all you can think of is your own feelings. One woman has hurt you, and you take revenge on the rest of the world. You're a...you're a coward! And a weakling!" 

Xander looks away from her. "I thought I was a Zeppo," he whispers, his voice low and husky. 

Hearing this cuts her like a hot knife. She twists away as tears flood her eyes, falling to the carpet and soaking it. "No! Oh, Xander, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, but you, you are our last hope. If you don't help us, Angel will be dust in Casablanca." 

"What of it?" Xander snarls as sticks his nose in the empty box, inhaling deeply of the remnant fumes from that heavenly food product. "I'm going to die in Casablanca. It's a good spot for it." He turns back to face her, "Now if you'll—" 

He stops, dropping the box as he sees her point a ferula-gemina at him. "All right, I tried to reason with you. I tried everything. Now I want those talismans. Get them for me!" 

"You didn't think to try a lap dance?!" remarks Xander, sarcasm oozing from every syllable, "That might have actually worked!" 

She ignores his furious leer. "Get them. Now!" 

Seeing how desperate she is Xander settles back and calms down. He knows he's got the upper hand in this pretty little tableaux and becomes as cool as the cucumbers he serves with his Cranberry-Cucumber Coolers. "I don't have to. I've got them right here." 

"Put them on the table!" she hisses. 

He smirks. "No." 

"For the last time, put them on the table! I can only do so much angry, indignant hissing!" 

He is plainly unimpressed with her hissing. "If Angel and the cause mean so much to you, you won't stop at anything. All right, I'll make it easier for you." He steps closer, right up to point blank range. "Go ahead and shoot, you'll be doing me a favor. Each of us will only have to work half as much to keep this place going." 

The tense moment stretches on, becoming a pregnant moment before turning into an awkward moment. 

Cordelia's hand falls, her gaze drops. There are tears again in her eyes. She turns and moves away from him. "Xander, I tried to stay away." There's a hitch in her voice. "I thought I would never see you again, that you were out of my life." 

Xander follows and takes her in his arms and holds her tightly. 

"The day you left, Xander, if you knew what I went through! If you knew how much I loved you, how much I still love you!" 

He kisses her passionately, as she loses herself in his warm embrace. 

[snip NSFW scene (use your imagination with Viking-boy)] 

Later, standing in front of his window, Xander watches the airport beacon. Cordelia sits in the sofa behind him. He turns and walks back to her. "And then?" he asks. 

"It wasn't long after Whistler talked to me that Angel arrived. He must have had a hex, or a spell, or a whammy, or something done to him, because when he came back he didn't know that he was supposed to stay in LA, waiting for me, and be a champion. Instead he fell for Buffy, who must have done something to him in LA. For months I tried to get him to remember the truth of his destiny. But I failed! I lost hope; I wouldn't be a seer and get almost top billing, he wouldn't be a champion and save the world every week. Despite Harmony and the rest of the sheep, I was lonely. I had nothing, just my Prada purses and my cars. But no hope. Then, well, you and I, and the basement, and, and..." 

"Why weren't you honest with me? Why did you keep your future abilities and star billing a secret?" Xander asked gently as he sits down next to her. 

"Oh, it wasn't my secret, Xander. Angel would have wanted it that way. And I knew so much about what his future really was. If Buffy had found out I was to be his seer it would be dangerous for me and everyone I knew!" 

Against his better judgment, Xander remains curious, drawing the story out of her. "When did you first find out he was over Buffy's spell?" 

"Just before you and I were to leave Sunnydale together. I thought something might be happening when he broke up with Buffy, that maybe he was beginning to understand the truth. Then I found out from Willow that he really was leaving. But he was still lovesick for Buffy. He needed me. I wanted to tell you, but I-I didn't care. I knew, I knew you wouldn't have left Sunnydale permanently, So I...well, well, you know the rest." 

"Well...wow! That's sure some story, huh?" Xander shakes his head. "And all along I thought Tara's asparagus farts smelled bad! But I gotta tell ya', Cordy, that pile of crap you just laid on me stinks far worse! Jesus, how stupid do you think I am? No, wait, don't answer that!" He shakes his head again, drawing in a deep calming breath. "Damn!" He sighs resignedly. 

She's silent, angry at him, but mostly unsure what to do or say as she waits to see what else he might have. She watches carefully through tear-filled eyes as he visibly comes to some sort of decision. 

"OK, fine, I don't believe a word of that dreck, but I'll give you props for coming up with a hell of a story!" He chuckles, then turns serious again. "But it's still a story without an ending. What about now?" 

"Now? I don't know. I know that I'll never have the strength to leave you again." 

"And Angel?" 

"Oh, you'll help him now, Xander, won't you? You'll see that he gets out? Then he'll have his work, all that he's been unliving for." 

"All except for one. He won't have you and your bad-boys." 

"I can't fight it anymore. I ran away from you once. I can't do it again! I don't know what's right any longer. You'll have to think for both of us, for all of us." 

"Alright, I will." He gently cups her chin in his hand, gaze tracing across her lovely features. "Here's looking at you, C." 

"I wish I didn't love you so much." She snuggles in closer to him as he wraps her up tightly in his comforting arms. 

\--- 

Meanwhile, outside the cafe, Angel and Willow sneak their way to the side entrance and enter. Willow had run into him and some of his compatriots after her second tryst with the FCG shop rep. 

"I think we've lost them," comments a relieved Willow. 

"Yes, but I'm afraid they caught some of the others." 

"Come on inside, Angel!" She hustles him into the main room. "Come inside. I'll help you. Come on in." 

"Thank you, Willow. You always were one of the nicest to me." 

"I'll get some water" 

"Just as long as it's not holy." 

Up in the apartment, Xander and Cordelia hear voices. Xander crosses over to the door and opens it a crack, just enough to peer out and see what's going on below. Cordelia comes up behind him and moves as if to go out to the balcony but Xander pushes her back behind the door. Instead, he goes out on the balcony himself. He sees Willow helping Angel with his injuries. 

"Willow, what happened?" he calls down. 

They both look up, startled. 

"The police broke up his meeting, and I was sneaking back home. We ran into each other. We escaped at the last moment, when I threw up a glamour by sticking my finger way down my throat. They slipped and fell and we were able to lose them." 

"Come up here a moment, would you, Wills?" 

Willow nods her head and starts toward the stairs. "Yup, I'm coming." 

"I want you to turn out the light in the rear entrance, it might attract police, and big nasty bugs." 

She begins to protest, "But Andrew always puts out that light—" 

"Tonight he forgot!" he rasps at her. 

"OK, OK, I'll do it. Sheesh, don't get your thong all in a bunch!" 

By now she's on the balcony with Xander and they enter his apartment together. She spots Cordelia, looks quickly at Xander with a reproving glance, but says nothing. 

"I want you to take Cordy home. And don't say anything to Angel." 

"What're you nuts?! This bit—" she stops upon seeing Xander's glare. "Yeah, sure, sure, whatever! Boy, five years and she's _still_ got you whipped!" 

Xander ignores her comments and leaves the apartment. He descends the stairs and heads to the bar where Angel is still sitting. He watches without sympathy as Angel wraps a towel around his injured hand, using a clean corner of it to wipe off some of Willow's glamour that splashed on him. 

"It's nothing, just a little cut. We had to get through the window." 

Xander pours a Lime and Lettuce Libation. "Well, this might come in handy. And you'll owe for that towel you're getting all bloody!" 

"Yeah, sure, whatever." Angel looks at Xander directly. "That maturity thing, it's still a work in progress for you, isn't it? You can still be such a prick!" 

"True." Xander nods judiciously. "On the other hand, I'm not the paleface wearing a Bob Marley wig." He considers Angel for a few more moments and decides to push aside his healthy, normal, and well-adjusted antagonism toward the Fanged Crusader. "Had a close one, eh?" he asks. 

"Yes, rather." 

"Don't you sometimes wonder if it's worth all this? I mean, what you're fighting for?" Xander waxes philosophic. 

"We might as well question why we breath, even though I actually don't, but it's fun pretending to. If we stop breathing we'll die. If we stop fighting our enemies, the world will die." 

"What of it? Then it will be out of its misery." 

"You know how you sound, Xander? Like a man who's trying to convince himself of something he doesn't believe in his heart. Each of us has a destiny, for good or for evil." 

"Yes, I get the point." He doesn't, but the script calls for him to say that. 

"I wonder if you do. Look, I'm trying to be decent to you for once. I wonder if you know you're trying to escape from yourself, and that you'll never succeed." 

Sarcasm creeps into Xander's next comment. "You seem to know all about my destiny." 

"I know a good deal more about you than you suspect. I know, for instance, that you are in love with a woman. Perhaps it's strange that we both love the same woman. The first evening I came here I knew there was still something between you and Cordelia. But, since no one is to blame, I demand no explanation. I ask only one thing. You won't give me the talismans of transit. Alright. But I want Cordy to be safe. I ask you, as a favor, to use the talismans to take her away from Casablanca." 

Xander's eyebrows crawl up his forehead so high they threaten his hairline. "You love her that much?" Xander is frankly astonished. 

"Apparently you think of me only as the room-temperature champion of a cause. Well, I am also an ex-human being. And though I was more a jerk than you are, I used to have a working heart, I remember how it feels. Yes, I love her that much." 

Xander is pondering his response when the front door crashes open and several gendarmes make their way in. Forrest stalks in and address Angel. "Angel?" 

"Yes?" 

"You will come with us. We have a warrant for your arrest." 

"On what charge?" Angel asks incredulously, standing to face the group of well-armed men. 

"Your piss-poor and insulting imitation of Bob Marley! Half the Rastafarians world-wide want to tear you to pieces!" Forrest snatches the wig off Angel's head. 

"Only half?" Xander inquires amiably, waning philosophic now. 

"Yeah, the other half want to roll him up in a pile of ganja and see how well he burns!" He turns back to Angel. "But Captain William will discuss that with you later." 

Xander is very amused at the turn of events. "It seems that destiny has taken a hand." 

In dignified silence Angel leaves with the officers. Xander watches, his face returning to the expressionless mask he likes to wear. 

\--- 

The next morning, Xander is in Spike's office. He seems a bit nervous as he argues with Spike. "But you haven't any actual proof, and you know it! This isn't London! All you can do is try to pilfer that dumb-ass dread-locks wig of his and give him thirty days. You might as well let him go now." 

"Alex, I advise you not to be too interested in what 'appens with Angel. If by any chance you were to 'elp 'im escape—" 

"What makes you think I'd stick my neck out for that Life-Challenged Lizard?" 

"Because one, you've bet ten zousand points worth of toys 'ee'd escape. Two, you 'ave ze talismans of transit—now don't bother to deny it. And, well, you might do it simply because you don't like Buffy's looks. As a matter of fact, I don't like 'er either." 

"Well, they're all excellent reasons," Xander agrees with a smile. 

"Don't count too much on my friendship, Alex. In zis matter I'm powerless. Besides, I might never get to play with all zose cheap plastic toys." 

"You're not very subtle, but you are effective. I-I get the point. Yes, I have the talismans, but I intend using them myself. I'm leaving Casablanca on tonight's carpet, the last one." 

Spike is astonished. "'Uh?" 

"And I'm taking a friend with me. One you'll appreciate." 

"What friend?" 

"Cordelia Chase. That ought to put your mind to rest about helping Angel escape. He's the last man, err...vampire, I want to see anywhere near her." 

Spike is supremely amused at this turn of events. "You didn't come 'ere to tell me zis. You 'ave the talismans of transit. You can chant your name, and 'ers, and leave any time you please. Why are you interested in what 'appens to Angel?" He gets out of the chair and crosses over in front of his desk, sitting on it's edge while he closely regards Xander. 

"I'm not. But I am interested in what happens to Cordy and me. We have a right to go, that's true. But people have been held in Casablanca in spite of their rights." 

"What makes you zink we want to 'old you?" 

"Cordelia is Angel's seer. She probably knows things that Buffy would like to know. Spike, I'll make a deal with you. Instead of this petty charge you have against him, you can get him for something really big, something that would chuck him in a hell dimension for centuries. That would be quite a feather in your cap, wouldn't it?" 

Spike nods his head, thinking carefully, planning his plans, scheming his schemes, "It certainly would. Ze Slayers would be very grateful." He continues nodding his head as plots his plots, intrigues his intrigues. 

"Then release him. Be at my place a hour before the carpet leaves. I'll arrange to have Angel come to pick up the talismans, and that'll give you the criminal grounds on which to make the arrest. You get him, and we get away. The slayers won't care about that." 

Spike is sure there is something more and voices his concern. "Zere's still something about zis business I don't quite understand. Miss Chase, she's very beautiful, yes, but you were never interested in any woman." 

"Well, she isn't just any woman. I mean, she's got lungs like nobody's business!" he leers at Spike, gesturing with his hands. 

Spike closes his eyes for a moment as he recalls. "I see." His eyes flash open, then squint in suspicion, "'Ow do I know you'll keep your end of ze bargain?" 

"I'll make arrangements with Angel right now, in the visitor's pen." 

"Alex, I'm going to miss you!" Spike exclaims with genuine affection. "You are ze only person on Casablanca with less scruples zan I!" 

"Gee, thanks." 

"Go ahead, Alex, make ze arrangements." 

Spike rings the buzzer and the door opens as Xander rises to leave. Before exiting, Xander looks over his shoulder and adds one more comment. "And by the way, call off your hellhounds when you let him go. I don't want them around this afternoon. I'm taking no chances, Spike, not even with you." 


	10. A Wow Finish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's very, very dramatic. And spit flies.

**Part 9:** A Wow Finish 

Later that day, in the Blue Suede Shoe, Xander and Faith sit in a darkened secluded booth in the back of the joint. A waiter serves cappuccino frozen yoghurt's, with Gummi bears and rainbow sprinkles on top, to both. 

"Shall we do the legal thing, with papers and all that shit, or is a wet high-five good enough?" Faith asks. 

"It's certainly not good enough," scowls Xander, in ironic good humor, "but since I'm in a hurry it'll have to do." 

Faith spreads some more sprinkles on top of Xander's treat and says, "Ah, to get out of Casablanca and go back to America! You're a lucky man, X-ecutive." 

"By the way, my agreement with Giles and Lorne is they get twenty-five percent of the profits. That still goes." 

"Hmm, I happen to know G and L get ten. But they're worth twenty-five, so that's cool." 

He pauses to pick cold Gummi bear out of his teeth. "And Tara, Willow and Andrew, they stay with the place, if they want, or I don't sell." 

"Of course they stay. Al's wouldn't be Al's without them. And maybe I can get in on some of that girlie action, could be wicked fun!" 

"Well, so long, Faith. It's been real interesting having you around." 

They both get up, respectfully spit in their respective palms, swing their arms up high and do a "wet" high-five on the deal, excess spittle spraying nearby patrons. Xander walks to the door, pauses and turns back to Faith. "And don't forget, you owe Al's a hundred cartons of parsley flakes." 

"I shall remember to pay it...to myself!" she chortles. 

\--- 

Nighttime has now fallen. The front door to Al's has a sign on it: 

"Closed by order of the Prefect of Police". 

Inside, Xander casually looks over the talismans of transit, flipping them from one hand to the other and back again. They look very much like New York City subway tokens. At a knock on the door he puts them away in his pocket and goes to answer. Spike quickly enters. 

"You're late," Xander accuses. 

Spike is blissfully unconcerned, the kind of bliss one knows when one feels as if one is in control of one's situation. "I was informed just as Angel was leaving ze 'otel, so I knew I'd be on time." 

Xander growls, "I thought I asked you to tie up your hellhounds." 

"Oh, 'Ee won't be followed 'ere." Spike looks around the room carefully. "You know, zis place won't be ze same without you, Alex," says Spike, faint signs of wistful regret in his voice. 

"Yes, I know what you mean. But I've already spoken to Faith. You'll still win at Donkey Kong." 

Spike smirks to himself, satisfied. "Is everything ready?" 

Patting his pocket, Xander gives him the answer. "I have the talismans right here." 

"Tell me, when we searched ze place, where were zey?" 

"Inside Giles's guitar." 

"Serves me right for not being musical," Spike muses, with not even an iota of irony. 

At that moment the sound of another car is heard from outside. Xander looks up at the door. "Here they are. You'd better go wait in my office." 

Spike gets up from the table and trots up the stairs and out of sight. 

Outside, Angel goes to pay the driver as Cordelia walks up to the door, Xander opening it just as she gets there. He can easily see she is seriously wigging out as she rushes up to him. He gathers her up and pulls her close. 

"Xander, Angel thinks I'm leaving with him! Haven't you told him?" 

"Not yet." 

"But it's all right, isn't it? You were able to arrange everything?" 

"Everything is all right," he deadpans. 

"Oh, Xander!" she hugs him close, reveling in his warmth. 

"We'll tell him at the airport. The less time to think the easier for all of us. Please trust me." 

She is unsure for a moment, but agrees. They separate before Angel can see them and they proceed down into the main sitting area. 

Angel comes in shortly after and closes the door, then joins them in the middle of the room. "Xander, I don't know how to thank you." 

"Don't. Getting rid of you will be thanks enough. We've still lots of things to do." 

The three of them move over to the bar as Spike watches from above. 

Angel begins to reach into his trademark duster. "I brought the payment, Xander" 

"Keep it, you'll need it in America," Xander says, waving him off. 

Angel protests, "But we had a deal!" 

"Never mind about that. You won't have any trouble in Lisbon?" 

Angel is a bit nonplussed by Xander's attitude but decides not to say anything. "No, it's all arranged." 

"Good. I've got the talismans right here," Xander informs Angel, putting his hand in his pocket, "all set to go." He takes out the two medallions to show Angel. "All you have to do is put a drop of your blood on them and chant each of your names three times." 

"Gregorian?" 

"No, no. Just say your name in a low melodramatic whisper. And remember, just three time. No more, no less. Not four and not two—unless you go on to three. Don't even think about five. 

"Yeah, yeah," Angel cuts him off impatiently, "we've all seen the movie. Three. Got it. Sheesh, how immature can you get?" 

Xander rolls his eyes. "Can I just say 'wig'?" He hands the subway tokens over to Angel anyway, who takes them gratefully. 

Spike comes charging out. "Angel! You are under arrest, on ze charge of accessory to murder of ze lackeys from 'om zose talismans were stolen." 

Cordelia and Angel are stunned, caught completely off guard, each with a deer-in-the-headlights look. Cordelia is horrified as Spike takes the talismans. Noting this, Spike explains, "Oh, you are surprised about my friend Alex?" Spike is insufferably delighted with the whole situation. "Ze explanation is quite simple. Love," glancing at Xander, "it seems, 'as triumphed over virtue. Zank—" 

"Not so fast, Spike." Xander is holding a gun pointed right at Spike. "No one is going to be arrested. Not for awhile yet." 

"'Ave you taken leave of your senses?" asks a dumbfounded Spike. 

Xander chuckles a bit, a small self-satisfied smile emerging. "Perhaps I have. Sit down over there," he commands, waving the gun in the direction he wants Spike to go. 

"Put zat gun down!" Spike protests, cringing slightly at the waver he's unable to keep out of his voice. 

"Spike, I wouldn't like to shoot you—OK, actually I would—but you've become quite amusing since your Shanshu, with your horrible and silly French accent, and I'd prefer not to. But I will if you take one more step." 

Spike thoughtfully studies Xander, scrutinizing his posture and expression. He quickly concludes Xander is deadly serious and not bluffing one bit. "Under ze circumstances...I will sit." 

"And keep your hands on the table!" 

"I suppose you know what you're doing, but I wonder if you realize what zis means?" 

Xander is confident and in control of the situation. "I do. We've got plenty of time to discuss that later." 

"Call off your 'ellhounds, you said," a chagrined Spike recalls, ruefully nodding his head. 

"Just the same, you call the airport and let me hear you tell them. And remember, this gun is pointed right at your heart, which is now beating. This time it *will* kill." 

"Zat is still my least vulnerable spot," Spike retorts as he picks up the phone and dials. "'Ello, is zis ze airport? Zis is Captain William speaking. Zere will be two talismans of transit for ze Lisbon carpet. Zere's to be no trouble about zem. Good!" 

\--- 

Miles away, across town, Buffy is holding the phone, frowning at it in confusion. "Hello? Hello?" She slams down the phone and yells, "MY CAR!" She grabs the phone again and calls the police station. "This is Buffy. Have a squad of police meet me at the airport, at once. At once!" 

\--- 

The airport is mostly dark, wrapped in fog, every quarter draped in ethereal and wispy curtains of eerily lit greyness. A huge carpet is just barely visible from the hanger where the orderly, Tara, speaks into the phone. "Hello, radio tower? The Lisbon carpet is taking off in ten minutes. East runway. Visibility is 1-1/2 miles. Light, yet subtly lit and dramatically swirling ground fog. Magic peerage ceiling unlimited. Thank you." 

She spots the car that has just pulled onto the tarmac and moves over to it. Spike slowly steps out, followed closely by Xander, his hand in the pocket, covering him. Cordelia and Angel are last to get out. 

"Spike, have your people go with Angel and take care of his luggage." 

"Certainly, Alex, anything you say." He turns to Tara, "Get Angel's luggage and put it on ze carpet." 

"Yes, sir," she salutes Spike, then turns to face Angel. "This way please." She looks back over her shoulder to ask Xander, "And can I exit this story as soon as I'm done with that?" 

Xander replies laconically, "Yeah, sure. But no more free drinks at the bar!" 

"Not a problem, Xander! Not a problem." She helps Angel with the luggage. 

Xander hands the talismans to Spike as they walk toward the hanger. "If you don't mind, you complete them with your blood. That will make it even more official." 

"You zink of everything, don't you?" Spike huffs with grudging respect. 

"And the names to chant are Angel's and Cordelia's." 

Spike stops and turns as does Cordelia. Both of them gape at Xander in astonishment. 

"But why my name, Xander?" Cordelia cries. 

"Because you're getting on that carpet," Xander informs her in a firm commanding tone. 

She is confused, not understanding. "I'm confused. I don't understand. What about you?" 

"I'm staying here, with him, till the carpet gets safely away." 

His intentions suddenly become clear to her. She takes a quick step to close the distance between them. "No, Xander, no! What's happened to you? Last night we said—" 

He gazes lovingly down at her, his hand moving up to caress her face, his thumb tracing tenderly along her cheek. "Last night we said a great many things. You said I was to do the thinking for both of us. Well, I've done a lot of it since then, and it all adds up to one thing. You're getting on that carpet, with Angel, where you belong." 

"But Xander, no, I—" She reaches up to grasp his arm, to hold onto him. Her confusion has begun to turn to anguish as she realizes the full ramifications of what he's telling her. 

"You've got to listen to me. Do you have any idea what you'd have to look forward to if you stayed here? Nine out of ten we'd both wind up in a Bizzarro World, or maybe even a Hell Dimension. Possibly a Universe Without Tits." Xander turns his head slightly toward Spike. "Isn't that true, Spike?" 

Spike drips some blood from his finger onto the talismans and chants their names before replying to Xander. "Buffy would insist." 

"You're saying this only to make me go!" Cordelia wails, her grip on Xander becoming even tighter. 

"I'm saying it because it's true. Inside both of us we know you belong with Angel. You're part of his work, the thing that keeps him going. If that carpet leaves, and you're not with him, you'll regret it." 

"No!" Her eyes are shining wetly. 

He remains firm and insistent. "Maybe not today, and maybe not tomorrow. But soon, and for the rest of your life." 

Tears brim her eyes as Cordelia struggles to maintain her composure. "But what about us?" she asks, barely above a whisper. 

They draw even closer toward each other, anguish in her eyes, tenderness in his. Their arms wrap each other up, expressing in simple physical touch thoughts and emotions that can be contained no longer. There are no words for the depth of the feelings they have for each other; they let their warm embrace do the communicating for them. 

"Do I really have to continue the speech?" Xander whispers into her hair, the feel of her, the scent of her, nearly overpowering his resolve. He can barely stand anymore while at the same time she seems to regain some of her own composure, as if the nearness of him gives her the strength to go on. 

She draws back just a little, now able to look him in the eye, and they lean their heads forward, gently touching their foreheads against each other. "Yeah, you really do. It's a great speech, and the readers are kind of expecting it." 

"Okay...for you, I'll do it." Xander sighs deeply. He takes another deep breath then resumes. "We'll always have Sunnydale. We'd lost it, until you came to Casablanca. We got it back last night." 

She puts her finger to his chin, gently moves it up and across his face, feeling the familiar features beneath her touch. "And I said I would never leave you." She smiles sadly at him. 

"And you never will! But I've got a job to do, too. Where I'm going you can't follow. What I've got to do you can't be any part of. There's a whole continent out there ready for vegetable juice franchises, franchises that only I can provide. Cordy, I'm no good at being noble, but I can quaff an onion-orange highball like nobody's business, and it doesn't take much to see that the problems of two people and a vamp don't amount to a pile of peas on this crazy earth. Some day you'll understand that. Now... now..." 

Suddenly she loses it again, tears streaming from her eyes. She's about to break down completely and practically collapses into him. He easily holds her up with one strong arm about her waist, gently grasping her chin with his free, raises her head so her eyes meet his. 

"Here's looking at you, C," Xander says with the barest hint of a smile. 

They gaze into each others eyes, the outpouring of love and affection continuing unabated as they separate and move apart. 

Angel has started to return, and Xander slowly turns from her, going into the hanger to get the talismans from Spike. He dons a stoic, expressionless mask he keeps in his back pocket just for such occasions before he rejoins Angel and Cordelia. Her own expression has become indistinct, vague, as she stares into the empty distance. 

"Everything is in order?" asks Angel warily, aware that something has been going on between Xander and Cordelia. 

"All except one thing. There's something you should know before you leave," he says to Angel while looking at Cordelia. 

Angel senses what's about to happen. "Xander, you don't need to say anything." 

Xander turns his full attention to Angel. "I'm going to anyway, because it may make a difference to you later on. You said you knew about Cordelia and me." 

"Yes." 

"But you didn't know she was at my place last night when you were. She came for the talismans of transit. Isn't that true, Cordelia?" 

"Yes," she reluctantly answers, still staring into the yawning nothingness. 

"She tried everything to get them, and nothing worked. She did her best to convince me she was still in love with me, but that was all over long ago. For your sake, she pretended it wasn't, and I let her pretend." 

"I understand," replies Angel who, in a moment of rare brilliant clarity, really does understand. 

"Here they are." Xander hands Angel the talismans. 

"Thank you, I appreciate it." Angel shakes his palm, jingling the tokens together, then looks directly at Xander. "You know, you're not such a putz after all, Xander." 

"You're not so bad yourself, Angel. Make sure you get yourself a better wig when you get back to the States." 

They share thin yet sincere smiles and shake hands firmly, a cold clammy hand in a warm dry one. 

"And welcome back to the fight. This time I know our side will win." 

Cordelia has been watching this exchange between former antagonists with the same dazed expression she had moments before, hardly believing what's about to happen to her. 

The carpet is ready to leave, the dust busted out of it, the tassels all untangled. Cordelia looks longingly at Xander, but he returns only the expressionless stare. They then both look at Angel. 

"Are you ready, Cordelia?" asks Angel, reaching to take her hand in his. 

She blinks, shakes herself, then holds her head up high. "Yes, I'm ready." Turning back to Xander she says, "Goodbye, Xander. May the Almighty Twinkie bless you." 

"You'd better hurry or you'll miss that carpet," Xander says as he struggles to retain control. Angel and Cordelia turn together toward the carpet. Xander watches their retreating backs as they walk deliberately away. Her back is unnaturally straight and stiff, her steps short and choppy. 

She never looks back. 

Xander raises his arm slightly in an attempted half-hearted wave. "Goodbye, Cordy," he whispers hoarsely, a bittersweet whisper that nobody hears. His arm falls back limply. 

Spike can hardly believes what he's seeing, attention jumping between the retreating pair and Xander. "You son of a bitch! You stupid git! How can you let 'er go!?" 

"Stay where you are, Spike!" commands Xander, ready to take out his despair on him in a senseless violent rage. 

Spike's sense of flippant irreverent amusement, missing since his Shanshu, does a sudden and long awaited encore as he takes in the end of this whole vignette. "Well, I was right. You are a sentimental sap! A stupid, brain-dead son of a bitch, but a sap nevertheless." 

Xander takes a moment to lead his emotions down to the deepest, darkest dungeons of his mind. "I don't know what you're talking about." 

"What you just did for Angel. And that fairy-tale you invented to send Ms. Chase away with 'im. I know a little about women, mate. She went, but she knew you were lyin'." 

Xander heaves a ragged, gusty sigh, shoulders rising and falling back down. He slams closed the mental dungeon door, shutting away that part of his life forever. 

"You always were good at reading people, Spike. Anyway, thanks for helping me out." 

"I suppose you know...zis isn't going to be pleasant for either of us. Especially you. I'll have to arrest you, of course." 

Xander turns back to watch the carpet. "As soon as the carpet goes, Spike." 

The carpet floats away into the dancing fingers of fog as Buffy's car comes screeching up to the hanger. She jumps out, yelling at Spike, "What is the meaning of that phone call?" 

"Angel is on that carpet." Spike informs her, nodding his head in the direction of the departing carpet. 

Buffy is dumbfounded, "Why do you stand here? Why don't you stop them?" 

"Ask Xander." Spike now inclines his head in Xander's direction. 

Buffy smokes a withering glare at him, then heads for the telephone. 

Seeing Buffy's intent, Xander yells at her, pulls the gun from his pocket and shouts, "Get away from that phone!" 

Buffy stops to look back at Xander and sees that he is armed. 

"Don't interfere, Xander!" 

"I was willing to shoot Spike, and I'm willing to shoot you!" 

Buffy watches the faraway carpet in agony. She looks at the phone and darts toward it in desperation, grabbing the handset and begins to shout into it. "Hello?" 

"Put that phone down!" 

Buffy ignores him. "Get me the radio tower." 

"Put it down!" he demands again. 

Buffy pulls out a stake and flings it at him, but it misses as Xander spins about, dropping into a crouch. He whips the gun into line and fans the hammer. The first shot blows the handset cleanly out of her hands, his next shots plucking at it as it skitters away across the concrete. He stands and fires his last shot into the phone itself, destroying it utterly. 

So shocked she is by Xander's Sundance Kid-worthy display of firearms dexterity that she falls unconscious. Really. I wouldn't kid about a thing like that. 

The emotionless mask he was wearing has fallen to the ground. Xander calmly reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a spare expressionless mask to hide behind, one he's had sitting on ice. 

Another police car screams up, gendarmes jumping out. The carpet has turned onto the runway and is lining up for take off. The police hurry to Spike. The first one, Willow, salutes. 

"Captain!" 

"Buffy's been mugged," he declares. He looks at Xander, who returns his look with his cold emotionless mask. Spike pushes his tongue into his cheek as he considers his next move. He glances around, seeing the carpet about to leave, the supine body of Buffy, the beads of condensation on Xander's cold visage. He quirks his eyebrows and gives a small shake of his head as he reaches a decision. 

"Round up the usual suspects." 

"Yes, Captain!" Willow and another extra grab Buffy's body and hurry away, a light, happy spring in Willow's step as she sings to the sky, "It's over! It's over! I'm free at last! La la la la la!" 

Spike goes in the hanger and grabs a bottle of vintage Slayer Army label holy water. "Well, Xander, you're not only a sap, but you've also become rather a White Knight. Again." 

"Maybe. It seemed like a good time to start over." 

"I think perhaps you're right." Spike sees the label and dumps the bottle. He goes to stand over by Xander and they both watch the carpet undulate down the runway, gathering speed, its tassels fluttering in response to the magic ether invisibly streaming by. It takes off, quickly disappearing into the dark sky, finally gone. 

They turn together and begin to walk slowly away from the hanger, heading into the increasingly dramatic curtains of fog. 

"It might be a good idea for you to disappear from Casablanca for awhile. I hear there's this kitten poker game over in Brazzaville. I could be induced to arrange a passage." 

"A talisman of transit?" asks Xander as he discards the mask, his normal good humor returning. "I could use a trip. But it doesn't make any difference about our bet. You owe me ten thousand points worth of cheap plastic toys." 

"We can play with the zoo set during our trip." 

"Our trip?" a surprised Xander asks, forehead furrowing in amusement. 

"Uh huh," Spike agrees. Then he stops, shuddering as a wave of pain and pleasure tingles through his nervous system. Xander watches him curiously, and even with a little concern. It passes and Spike exults, "And check it, mate! I remember! Oy, I'm a real bloody English bloke again!! And I don't have that barmy French accent anymore!" He starts to dance about. 

Xander smiles in response and claps Spike on the back as they both start together again, side by side, heading for the edge of the airport, leaving behind the perfectly good car they had arrived in. 

"Spike, I think—" 

A shadow emerges out of the fog in front of them. 

"Hey! Waitaminute!" Spike is the first to exclaim, "you're supposed to be in a coma!" 

"I got better," Doyle answers, a merry twinkle in his eye, "again." 

"Huh!," is all Xander says as shakes his head a little. "I thought it was just a one-time discount. How'd you do it this time?" 

"Well, as they say—or should if they aren't—a good Irishman is like a cat." Doyle winks at both Spike and Xander and regards them with amusement. "Say, would an ignorant Yank and an English pig care to hoist a pint or two with a dirty Mick?" 

Spike, being the cheapskate he is, asks, "Ya buyin'?" 

Doyle cocks his head to the side and considers for a moment before answering. "First round, yeah." 

Xander and Spike share a look and shrug their shoulders in unison. "Yeah, sure, I'm up for it, mate!" Doyle turns with them as they all sensibly head back toward the waiting car. 

"You know, guys," begins Xander, "I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship." 

_Finally. . . The End_

**Author's Note:**

> This story never got much love, but it was easily the one I had the most fun writing.


End file.
